About a Boy
by EstaJay
Summary: Arc 1: Roy Mustang is Harry Potter and he's known that for a while now. Not that it matters though, he doesn't have a lick of magic. But after the Promised Day, he suddenly does. Then the Elrics somehow got themselves portkeyed to London. Now it's a cross-country expedition to get the brothers back and maybe find Roy a magic teacher. Oh, and the wizards have a Philosopher's Stone.
1. She took a boy, he named him Roy

They asked for a Boy

Summary: "My parents died in a car crash, no magic or wizards involved. How old do you think I am?"

She took a Boy, he named him Roy

Colonel Grumman met a kid at a brothel. That was uncommon but not too surprising. Sometimes protection wasn't used and abortion wasn't an option. Sometimes there wasn't any other option. The boy with his distinctly foreign features and green eyes that were almost black, bore a striking resemblance to Madame Christmas.

Madame Christmas claimed she was barren.

It was as if the boy was looking for him specifically. As soon as he entered the bar, a small hand tugged at his coattails.

"Are you Colonel Grumman, sir?" He asked, peering through a messy mop of black hair and thick-rimmed glasses.

"Why, yes." Grumman said, crouching down to the boy's eye-level. The boy's clothes were baggy yet modest. He moved with a childish innocence that suggested he wasn't in the business. Besides, this was Madame Christmas's bar, she wouldn't place a child in that situation. "And who might you be?"

The boy ignored his question, instead grabbing his hand and dragging him through the bar. With a slight stumble in his step, Grumman relented. He could have easily dug his heels and brought them both to a halt but this was just a boy, there wasn't much he could do with him.

The boy led the soldier through the back rooms, passing moaning doors and creaking frames without even batting an eye. He waltzed through the hall with the sort of grace and familiarity a five-year-old would have when pulling an adult into a game of pretend.

His little escort stopped behind one of the doors, indistinguishable from the rest. If his memory served correct, though, this was Madame Christmas's office. He gently rapped the door.

He was an odd little boy, Grumman noticed. The boy was three at youngest, seven at oldest, yet lacking the overabundance of energy that a child his age was known for. He was obviously familiar with Madame Christmas, so her son possibly. But the colonel had known the woman for years. He had been the one, after all, to smuggle her into Amestris with nothing more than the clothes on her back. No name, past or identity to speak of beyond what she made for herself in the backstreets of Central.

The door cracked open and there was Madame Christmas, dressed in a fur coat and pearls in a style more suited for a much larger woman. Her face was thin over a wiry body with a sour expression that only communicated annoyance. Maybe if her features were softer, her body less forced, she would have been a stunning beauty with emerald eyes and blonde roots peeking from underneath black dye.

"I brought the Colonel." He said, chest puffed with pride.

Madame Christmas puffed her cigarette in response. "Did you drag him off the street?"

"No." the boy almost yelled with a slight whine. "He was in the bar."

"Dragged me straight from the entrance." Grumman added, earning a look of betrayal from the boy. "Didn't even have a chance to grab a drink."

Madame Christmas shot the boy a stern look. "Is that true?" She didn't wait for an answer, the deflation in the boy's posture spoke for him. "Such behaviour is rude and inconsiderate. I taught you better than that."

"Yes Madame Christmas. Sorry Madame Christmas." The boy said in a monotone drone.

The woman's gaze softened to something almost motherly. "Just remember your manners next time." She said, ruffling the boy's hair. "Now run along, I think James might be bothering Lily again."

With a half-hidden cheeky smile, the boy nodded and left the two adults to whatever Madame Christmas had tasked him. Grumman was no fool. There was no 'James' or 'Lily' under the woman's hold. It was the code of the mistress of the house. She had developed it almost immediately after arriving in Amestris and he had yet to crack it.

"What are you waiting for?" Madame Christmas said, opening the door to her office. "Come in."

They made small talk over some cheap whiskey. Madame Christmas hadn't been expecting him while Grumman had no idea why she wanted him here. Even so, they were in an office and there was a deal waiting to be made. The topics shifted almost randomly from politics to the weather, the state of business to local gossip and even to owls for some odd reason.

After several glasses, lips began to loosen or at least they pretended they did. Grumman knew the Madame was a prideful woman but she was beyond taking favours. She just had a hard time asking them.

"Pretty energetic kid you've got running around." Grumman finally said, taking a sip from his glass. Money was flowing, business was good and no one had any beef against the woman. It had to be that boy.

Madame Christmas quashed her smoke in an ashtray before downing a mouthful of alcohol. "He gets it from his father, probably. That man was always a trouble maker."

"A one night stand?" The resemblance was impossible to ignore, the eyes especially. Though behind thick lens they looked a black-brown, he had glimpse the emerald green, almost identical to those opposite him.

"No. Love." She dropped the jovial fake-drunkenness and stared down into her drink. "Hated each other back in school but as soon as graduation came along…"

Grumman nodded, placing his glass down. A childhood sweetheart…

"…next thing I know, I'm invited to a baby shower."

Grumman nearly slipped out of his chair. "The boy's not yours?"

"The boy's my nephew, my sister's only child." Christmas said, slightly amused by his misconception. "She and her husband were…alchemists, or something similar at least. She was being targeted by a terrorist at the time and told me to flee the country." She reached out for the bottle but snatched her hand back. The wounds were still raw and the woman obviously didn't want to be sober at the moment. "We had been…fighting for some time. It had seemed so important then but now it's just petty."

He offered her the bottle. "Drink?"

"No. This is important. You deserve to know the truth, or at least a shade of it." Taking a deep breath, she continued. "I didn't heed her first warning, she was my crazy little sister out to break any sense of normality I had. The terrorists and his followers attacked. They killed my fiancé and were planning on using me as leverage against my sister. But even though I hated her, she still cared about me. A…teleportation array, for a lack of better description, was hidden in my house. It activated and…"

"And then you came stumbling across the western border."

Not for the first time, Grumman cursed his country's isolated nature. The nations beyond those that bordered Amestris were a complete mystery, nothing was known about them except the vague fact that they existed. Teleportation was something that was so alien, declared impossible, to Amestrian alchemy but to think it were possible elsewhere.

The glasses and alcohol were packed away. This wasn't a simple social meeting anymore. Best case scenario if this was found out would have the woman and her nephew charged as illegal immigrants. Worst case would spark a war a completely unknown enemy.

"I haven't heard from her since. That was until her son appeared on my doorstep three years ago over the same 'array'." Madame Christmas sat up, straightening her posture. Grumman did likewise. "I need you to forge legal documents. Adoption papers, identification, everything to make it look as if he were a native Amestrian."

"His appearance though. It would be easy to tell that he was a foreigner." Grumman pointed out. He didn't want to play devil's advocate but they had to be practical. "Yours too. Not to mention your accents. It sounds almost Creatan, enough to get you accused of being a spy."

"Bah, don't worry about me." She dismissed with a wave of her hand. "I know how to keep my head down but the boy will be a trouble maker, I'm sure of it. He has his parents' spirit and fire." There a glow in her eyes, a queer combination of hope and nostalgia. Madame Christmas expected the boy to do great things.

Grumman smirked. Yes, watching that boy grow would be interesting. "I'll have the papers sorted by the end of this week. You will need to come to my office to sign them, tomorrow or the day after that." He said. Then something occurred to him, an obvious little fact that he should have noticed earlier. "What is the boy's name? I can't leave the space black."

"Can't say it."

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't." The woman said firmly. "Part of their 'alchemy' can lock onto a person's name. If it was placed on the boy's name, simply speaking it would alert those murderers of his location."

Locating someone by merely saying their name…Grumman repressed a shudder. This foreign alchemy was something to fear.

"But you need names." Grumman said. "'Madame Christmas' might work for you but you can't keep calling him 'Boy' his entire life."

"Sure I can." Christmas said lightly. "Put me down as 'Chris T. Mas', aunt and legal guardian of 'Boy'."

The soldier snickered. "How about 'Christine Mustang' and 'Roy'? At least it sounds like your trying."

"Fine, fine. Whatever floats your boat." The lightness had returned, genuine and not forced this time. With a gentle almost sly smile, the newly named 'Christine' leaned over the desk between them. "Now, for all your troubles, what do you want out of this?"

"Pardon?"

"Don't play fool with me, Grumman." The woman said. "You won't go through all this trouble out of the goodness of your heart. What do you want out of this?"

Grumman hadn't forgotten. Forgery of such important documents would be enough to get him court martialled.

"Should Roy ever show interest in alchemy, have him seek out Berthold Hawkeye."

The Madame was sceptical. "What makes you so sure he would want to study alchemy?" 'Why waste a favour on something baseless?' was her underlying question.

"Alchemic skill isn't genetic but quite often the children of alchemists will show interest in the art." Grumman said. "I've had my eye on Hawkeye for several years now. Having an insider will hopefully lessen the animosity between him and the military." _Between myself and my own family._ Maybe it was a bit underhanded to use a child to bridge the gap between himself and his son-in-law but any connection to his estranged family was better than nothing.

'Fine but don't be so certain that he'll latch onto that magic."

"Alchemy is science, not magic."

Grumman had left several hours later, slightly tipsy from another round of drinks but not too intoxicated to not make his way home. Despite the lightness of his head and heart, something weighed on his mind. Madame Christmas's final warning.

" _If you see anyone running around in robes armed with sticks, treat them seriously._ Do not _take them lightly and consider them as dangerous as State Alchemists._


	2. She raised a boy, her little Roy

Readers, your support after just one chapter has left me speechless. Thank you.

{~~~}

She raised a Boy, her little Roy

They were in the red this month. The current drought caused water expenses to leap. Another rogue alchemist wreaking havoc on the pipes didn't help the matter. She rubbed her temples, staring down at the reports. With a bank account in overdraft while running at a net loss, the Bar existed only on the goodwill of its most loyal patrons. (Another debt she owed Grumman.)

If it were only to support herself and the boy, she would have closed the Bar down months ago. She had other ways of earning income and being an employee would be less of a headache than being a business owner.

But there were still the girls to think about. Once she would have shunned their sort, not even batting an eye in their direction. Pathetic street walkers, she would have called them. But they were her girls now, not some misfits or scum. They wormed a place into her heart like the boy, Lily's boy, had. They were her children in everything but blood and name. There was no way she would toss them back to the past they escaped from.

She tapped her pen, scribbling her signature at the bottom of her reports.

 _Christine Mustang._

Seeing the name down on paper didn't make it feel any less fake. She had redone many documents because the wrong name, her real name, had been signed. The attack was years behind her. Lily and her husband and her dear Vernon all rotting six feet under, she was raising her nephew on a false persona and identity. It felt so surreal. She was still expecting to wake up and find herself back in her modest home back in England, the life in a country that was stuck in the early twentieth century revealed to be nothing but an odd dream. But she was still here.

There was a gentle knock at the door.

"Come in." She said absently.

The wood creaked slightly as a small pyjama-clad form stood in the doorway, tugging at an oversized red and gold scarf as if it were a lifeline.

"Roy-boy." She said. It was her pet name for her nephew. It was for his protection bit it didn't numb the phantom pain in her chest. Lily had given her son a name, a disgustingly plain yet respectable name, and he would never be known by it.

"Aunt…Madame Christmas." The child said, clearly and oddly lucid for this time of night. A nightmare. He may have been barely an infant at the time but his parents were murdered right in front of him. His subconscious still remembered and insisted on haunting him.

Chris Mustang (because that was who she was now) pushed the reports aside. They could be finished in the morning.

She picked up the boy, Lily's boy, her little Roy, cradling him in her arms while he snuggles into her shoulder. She rubbed the small of his back, slowly easing him back to sleep.

Madame Christmas loathed the day the boy considered himself 'too old' for physical affection. Words, both verbal and written, were shallow and meaningless to between them. Rarely traded and constantly coded, they were used as a form of deception. They would never be used to show love and comfort.

This was not the life she imagined for herself. This was not the life Lily would have wanted for her son. But they would survive one way or another.

{~~~}

The years were flying by too fast.

She had indulged in her identity as Madame Christmas, Chris Mustang, owner of a small bar simply called The Bar that possibly doubled as a brothel. A shrewd woman with connections on both sides of the law and a penchant for taking in strays. Her past was far behind her. It was odd to think back and remember the spite and pettiness that once defined her and how desperately she had tried to fit into the mould society had made.

The boy had grown astoundingly from the squalling baby draped in red and gold that appeared on her doorstep at the dead of night. That night was seven years ago, celebrated as a commercialised day for the dead in her home country, the night his parents had been murdered, was now listed as his birthday.

The Bar had been closed for the night in order to celebrate eight years (and three months) of the boy's life. Her girls had gone all out decorating the place, swathing the plain wooden walls and dull plaster with red and pink streamers and filling the air with oddly-shaped balloons. In all honesty, it looked as if they were celebrating Valentine's Day rather than a birthday on Halloween but those holidays didn't exist in Amestris.

Roy was the centre of attention, of course. The girls fawned over the boy they considered their younger brother and Roy basked in the attention. She had heard that he would grow to be a heartbreaker. He provided each girl with his undivided attention then transition sleekly to another conversation with such grace that no seemed offended when he lost interest in them. Roy wasn't growing into a heartbreaker, he was growing to be an enemy of women.

Roy was eight-years-old, a happy and healthy boy and completely normal. This wouldn't have worried her, shouldn't have worried her, but Roy was Lily's son. Growing up, Lily had been far from normal. Their childhood had been littered with strange occurrences, accidental magic it had been identified as when an owl and that damn letter arrived on her sister's eleventh birthday.

Roy was eight-years-old and there had been none of the little incidents that made her realise that her sister wasn't normal. When he was refused sweets before bed, they didn't appear in his hands. When he didn't like the colour of his clothes, they didn't suddenly change colour. His magical heritage remained dormant, possibly non-existent. Had it been Lily and her husband, they might have been disappointed by such a development but she was glad, relieved even that the freaks that took her sister away wouldn't be taking her nephew as well.

(But there was magic in the boy's veins. She couldn't deny it. Suppressed, hindered and hidden away at the moment but it would find an outlet. It was only a matter of time.)

{~~~}

Something was frustrating little Roy and he was doing his damn best to hide it. However, nothing ever passed the eyes of Madame Christmas.

Despite everyone else who worked and lived at The Bar was female and at least twice his age, Roy was surprisingly sociable. The boy was a charmer, just like that man who stole away her sister. He had an innocent face and knew his manners, allowing him to play as a sweet little brother to the girls. With a bright smile and a squeaky please Roy had most of the girls and even some of the regulars wrapped around his finger. This cheery persona made it painfully obvious when something was bothering him or at least to his aunt it did.

When there weren't any serial killers or criminals running amok, Central was as safe as the capital of a militaristic nation could be. Madame Christmas had allowed the boy outside the four walls of The Bar to run errands as long as he had someone with him. She gave him a couple cenz every outing, expecting him to spend it on some sweets or a small toy. Roy never came back, though, with anything other than what was on the grocery list. His coins remained in a small pouch, slowly building up after each outing.

Roy was saving up for something. He had never told her what but a few quick questions with the girls who had gone out with him led Madame Christmas to a small bookstore on the way to the market.

Paige had said that the shop had caught the boy's eye during his first market trip while Katrina, Simone and Chloe all reported that he insisted on going to the shop on the way back to The Bar when they had each been supervising him.

It was a modest store nestled between two apartment buildings. The glass display window featured several large and heavily illustrated children's books. Maybe that was what Roy was after. Entering the shop, she found it mostly empty besides a woman behind the counter, deeply engrossed in a heavy science volume. There was a fireplace on the wall adjacent to the door surrounded by cushions over a circle rug, suggesting that there were small social gatherings held here. Bookshelves lined the other side of the room, neatly sorted into four shelves: children, fiction, non-fiction and miscellaneous. She didn't set foot beyond the door though, leaving the bookstore as briskly as she came.

(But she knew what the silver chain hanging from the woman's skirt meant even if there was no uniform. Roy wasn't after a gaudy story book.)

After closing The Bar for the night she found Roy in the sitting room, lying on the hearth angrily scribbling into a notebook. He acknowledged her presence with a slight nod before returning to scribbles. There was no need to talk. If the boy wanted something, needed her help, he was free to ask it. She would be waiting for it.

Settling herself down in a worn armchair, she pulled a ball of yarn and a pair of knitting needles from a basket at its foot. She had never been one for knitting, having only learned how to socialise with some other women back in her own country, but nearly caught a cold during winter. The scarf he had arrived with was beginning to wear due to being a constant fixture on the boy's neck. He would need a new one soon and she was sure green would suit him much better than red.

She and her nephew soon fell into a routine. During the day she would be the dismissive yet stern bar owner while he would be the sweet well-mannered angel that tugged at their heartstrings for a coin or sweet. Then before the boy was tucked into bed, the would spend an hour or so by the fireplace. Roy would silently rage at his notebook and attack it with forceful words while she would knit him a new scarf, waiting for him to ask for help. It remained that way for about two months.

One night, Roy gave a strangled groan and kicked his notebook away. She merely raised an eyebrow at the boy. He met her questioning gaze with a squinted look. Roy was at the peak of his frustration yet he still didn't want to tell her a thing. His eyes then shifted to her hands, eyeing the metre long fabric trailing from her clinking needles.

"I never noticed it had gotten so long." He said, the flames reflecting off his glasses.

"I'm surprised you even noticed at all." She said, reversing her stitches to start the next line. "I was beginning to think that you would need a stronger prescription."

Roy huffed, sitting up and puffing his cheeks. "My eyes are perfectly fine." He said, pulling off his glasses. "In fact, my sight's getting better. Soon I won't even need these." He wove them around to illustrate his point, his vanity clearly showing.

"Whatever you say, Roy-boy." She said. For all his maturity, the boy still had a child's logic. He still saw the world through an optimistic perspective and she hoped he stayed like that for as long as possible. "You look more handsome without them anyway."

A blush coloured his cheeks and Madame Christmas chuckled. She wasn't lying though. The hints of a stronger jaw was more obvious without his glasses making his face look rounder. His eyes were more obviously green from under his messy mop, gleaming like her sister's once had. If she had any photos, she would see Roy growing into the spitting image of that man but like this she confirmed that he was Lily's boy.

The boy inched closer, mystified by the steady growth of the scarf. His former frustrations appeared to be forgotten as he took the fabric and rolled the stitches between his fingers.

"It looks like one big green mass but if you look closely there are lots of tiny things making it up." He said slowly.

She smiled at Roy, tying off the ends and wrapping the solid green scarf over his red and gold one. "It's like that with everything made of fabric. Each little thread playing its part to hold together the much larger piece. Pull one out and it will slowly unravel until nither the larger fabric or the smaller stitches remain." The boy snuggled into the extra warmth and she ruffled his hair. "Come to think of it, just about everything in the world is like that. The Bar is nothing without the people running it. A meal can't be made without the ingredients. You can't be Roy without your skin, bones and blood." She nuzzled into his collar making him giggle. Most of what she said probably went straight over his head but then again, philosophical talks weren't for children.

But Roy had been listening. His eyes widening. "Everything is connected." He said, fiddling with his new scarf. "Like one long thread knitted into making a scarf. Everything is part of a greater whole but the whole is made of many smaller parts...All is One and One is All!" he declared, jumping up and hugging her by the neck. "Thanks Auntie!"

The boy sped off, grabbing his discarded notebook and disappearing down the hall. At least he wasn't moping anymore.

She couldn't stop the grin forming on her face. Roy was happy, that was all she could ask for.

(But when Roy came bouncing back from the market with a brown parcel in his hands, Madame Christmas knew it was no storybook. She felt her joy dying away.

Grumman was right and she would have to keep her end of the bargain.)

{~~~}

Madame Christmas held onto the hope that the boy's interest in alchemy was nothing but a passing fancy, that he would lose interest in the complex science and move on to something else like art or economics. But Roy was Lily's son and he was completely and utterly enthralled by alchemy as his mother had been by magic.

At age eleven, she was not greeted with an owl and letter demanding to take Roy away but rather intricate circles doodled onto the walls. The cracks in the aging plaster had completely disappeared with the only markings being a faint rectangular pattern on the upper end of the wall. It had also whitened several shades, looking newer than it had when she first rented then later bought the building. She almost wished it had been an owl.

The repairs to the wall, no matter how small they were, was a successful transmutation that men twice the boy's age struggled to achieve. Roy would dedicate his life to the art, that much she was certain of. Books and independent research would only get him so far. He would need a teacher, a master alchemist that would guide him in his endeavour.

In all honesty, she had been surprised that Roy didn't mention furthering his alchemic studies until he was fifteen and finished his basic schooling.

No schools received any government funding besides the military academies. Roy's school was a community run establishment, existing off volunteer teachers and charity rather than charge outrageous prices like other private schools. She had initially been wary of sending the boy there but it had been her only option besides homeschooling him. A military school was never an option. The class sizes were large, the teachers were sparse and most students were from the lower ends of the social hierarchy yet to her surprise Roy received a good education. Maybe it was because the children were from the dregs of society that they understood the value of the opportunity given to them. Maybe it was because of the teachers' bleeding hearts and hope for their students to use what they learned to make the most of their lives. Hope and ambition was what drove the school and kept it alive.

It was hope and ambition that was alight in Roy's eyes as he waltzed into The Bar, diploma in hand and head held high. He accepted the praises and congratulations from the girls humbly. Being modest didn't suit the boy, his pride barely contained as he leaned over the counter. His eyes were shone with an almost devilish intent.

"So finally out of school, Roy-boy." She said, squaring her shoulders to project the casual intimidation only Madame Christmas could.

Roy was unfazed, of course. She would have been disappointed otherwise. "Finally indeed." He said. "I would have been out sooner if the teachers didn't insist on holding me back. Apparently it would be too much of a blow to my seniors to be graduating alongside someone three years their junior."

"Bah! As if you could have handled the workload. You're a terrible procrastinator if I've ever seen one. So what now? Go to university? Help out here in The Bar? Get off that lazy arse of yours and finding an actual job? Or..." She leaned into the counter, meeting his gaze. "...maybe an apprenticeship in alchemy."

Roy's eyes widened, losing his suave mask. "How did…?"

"I tend to notice when the walls are targeted for alchemy practise." The boy blushed, slightly ashamed. It was amusing that he thought he could hide something that big from her in her own house. "You still have a long way to go."

From under the counter, she produced several files with a train ticket to the east on top. She had gathered all the information she could on Berthold Hawkeye since Grumman had mentioned him. A widower and hermit who lived on a hill on the outskirts of a small Eastern town and the subject of many rumours, none of which were appealing. Had she the option, she would keep Roy as far away as possible from the secluded man but a deal was a deal.

Despite how she presented it, it was not a choice or option. Even non-alchemists were subjected to Equivalent Exchange and this was the price for his safety.

{~~~}

Contrary to what her preliminary information had told her, Berthold Hawkeye was a decent man or at least he understood the worries of a parent. Every week she would receive a letter from the East, detailing Roy's progress. They were brief and barely a page long but it was better than nothing. The boy was growing, improving and going the way of every other teenager by not writing or calling home.

However, three years after the boy had left, she received her last and most troubling letter from Hawkeye.

 _For all his genius, this boy cannot think for himself. I have revoked his apprenticeship._

Both direct and vague, that short message was the last she heard from Hawkeye. She wondered what idiocy Roy had committed for his master to take such action. Lack of dedication? Violation of an alchemic taboo? (The delayed reveal of his magic?)

She sighed and pack the short note along with the others in her top desk drawer. The boy would be back any day now, probably moping. She might as well get his room ready for him.

But the boy didn't come home.

{~~~}

The first word Madame Christmas heard from Roy wasn't from the boy or her girls or even that fool Grumman. Six years after his expulsion she found the boy picture on the front page of the newspaper.

 **YOUNGEST STATE ALCHEMIST YET: ROY MUSTANG, THE FLAME ALCHEMIST**

The boy stood tall and proud, dressed in full military uniform complete with the tell-tale chain hanging from his pocket. His hair was much shorter and he wasn't wearing his glasses but she saw that blasted man in the newspaper. First her sister and now the boy. They claimed that alchemy wasn't magic but she knew better. Only magic would take what little she had left.

{~~~}

When whispers of the Eastern Rebellion spread, she knew it that the boy would be home soon. A full out war was brewing, not the 'small skirmishes' that the media supplied. The military would take this as an opportunity to test out their newest toy. The boy would be coming back in a body bag.

As the war progressed, more and more of her girls were excused due to a somber soldier in military blue with a single letter. A father was dead. An uncle was dead. A brother was dead. A cousin was dead. They served their nation valiantly and died with honour. They were noble and courageous.

Courage was for fools and fools died.

 _Your parents are dead. Your fiance is dead. Your sister is dead._

She waited for the letter. It came but not by a soldier. Once again it was the front page headliner.

 **THE HERO OF THE ISHVAL CIVIL WAR: THE FLAME ALCHEMIST**

She didn't bother reading the paper. One look at the photograph and the paper was tossed into the fire.

 _The boy is dead._

{~~~}

It was Wednesday night and The Bar was mostly empty. It wasn't bad business, the middle of the week was always dead. Very few people went out knowing that they would still have to get up early the next morning.

Her girls were lounging around, some drinking while other playing cards to pass the time. Madame Christmas could have easily found them something to do but there wasn't really a point. She wasn't in the mood, hadn't been in the mood for years.

One of the girls remained perky. Humming as she swept around the counter for the upteenth time. She was one of the greener ones, having only worked in the business for a couple of months. There had been trouble at her home and no one was ever turned away. It was likely that she wouldn't be in the business for much longer either. The girl had herself a man. He was a good one, despite being military. An overly optimistic shutterbug that was sure to be an annoyance to any of his friends and co-workers. It was a wonder why a man like that would work in the military, how he had survived being in the military.

It was young love at its sweetest and sickest and from the way she had seen the pair circle each other, it would be an affection that wouldn't be dimmed by marriage.

The door slammed open, startling most of the girls out of their half-hazed state and nearly knocking the bell right off its perch.

"Oh Gracia!"

The girl dropped the broom and her face broke into an impossibly wide grin. "Maes!"

They meet halfway in a tight embrace, trading chaste kisses and sappy words and acting as if they had been separated for years. (But the soldier-boy had dropped in the morning then at lunch and was here only an hour before.)

A lone figure stood by the door, awkwardly watching the young couple. The soldier-boy's 'best friend', if she remembered correctly. A bloody alchemist.

The soldier-boy unglued himself from the girl for a brief moment to urge his friend inside.

"Come on!" He insisted. She pitied the friend, stuck with such an endless ball of energy. "It's warm, there's pretty girls and good beer and Gracia works here!"

"That's a bad idea Hughes." Wait… "I don't think-"

"Roy-boy?"

The entire bar fell into silence as the friend stepped out of the shadows. The girls Roy had grown up with had long since moved on with their lives but these girls and the soldier-boy knew the stories of the little boy who used to live at The Bar. The boy who left one day and never came back.

Roy was so much taller now, filling out the awkward frame that the girls had teased him for in his teenage years. His posture was terrible, hunched back and slouching, and his chin was covered in a unruly stubble. Those dark green eyes, once filled with life, were hollow and void. The boy should only be in his mid-twenties but he looked a decade older. But it was still the boy, under all the scars and lifelessness. He avoided eye contact, looking not at her but straight pass her, and his shoulders were high and tense. He knew he was in trouble.

"Come here." A simple command that left no question.

He came forward, not the awkward shuffling of his childhood but a proper soldier's march. She came out from behind the counter and he stood before her, eyes still glued to the back wall.

"Au-...Madame Christmas I-"

She wrapped him in a hug, smothering his words into her shoulder and rubbing the small of his back. Words were useless between them and but he flinched at the contact, not falling into the embrace like he once did. The wounds were still too raw and too deep.

So she hugged the boy tighter. She could be mad at him. She could rage and scream and ban him permanently from The Bar. She would have every right to. But this was Lily's boy, her boy, her Roy-boy.

Her boy fell apart, breaking down into a mess sob. His breathing heaved and became jagged. Tears and snot streamed from his face and seeped into her coat. Her Roy wasn't a crier, not even as a baby, but even the strongest man had his moments of weakness. She smoothed out his hiccups with gentle pats to the back while letting her own tears fall.

They let their pieces fall but it was okay.

It was okay.

{~~~}

From here, the story splits in perspective. Do you want to read the Alchemists' side or the Wizards' side? There will be a poll on my profile.


	3. I'm not a boy, my name is Roy

I'm not a Boy, my name is Roy

Travelling had never been something he'd like. Roy was used being in one place and staying there, everywhere he needed to go only a short walk or drive from what he had designated 'home'. He hated trains especially. The rumbling vehicles that took him away from his childhood home, from his master's house, from his naive ideals and misplaced patriotism. It gave him an odd respect for Fullmetal who spent most of his cross-country goose chase on trains rather than off them.

He could never fall asleep on them and the constant teeter left him slightly nauseous and even disoriented at times. Sometimes he would read to pass the time or talk with any travelling companions, if any, but mostly he would gaze out the window and watch the world slip by. Sadly, none of those were an option.

The carriage was near empty, or at least it sounded so. Roy was travelling alone, having slipped away amidst the aftermath of the Promised Day. Truth's toll had robbed him of his sight, leaving him in a world of darkness. He should count himself lucky, though. Truth took his sight but not his eyes. That left him with a better chance of recovery.

(He could have been able to see again, if he had taken the offer. But in all honesty, would he have really? Could he have let Marcoh use a Philosopher's Stone to restore his sight when it had been made of the people he massacred? When one of his own men remained lame at his own fault?)

Roy was in the darkness, in a rumbling and shaking world, alone. (As it should, after all.)

"You mind if I sit here?"

Roy smiled in the approximate direction of the voice. "Not at all Miss-" But he faltered and his lips drooped. He knew that voice. "Haw-"

"Elizabeth Berthold." She said. "And who might you be?"

"Leroy Dudley." He responded in kind. "Please, sit. I wouldn't mind the company."

Elizabeth Berthold, or rather Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, joined him on the thinly cushioned bench.

They had both been raised in a life of codes and false words, the daughter of an alchemist and the nephew of an infobroker. Even the aliases they had exchanged sent a clearer message than a string of dialogue. 'Elizabeth Berthold' was a combination of what Roy had once thought 'Riza' was short for, which it was not, and her father's name. She was mad at him for leaving suddenly and would be filling him full of lead in any other situation, a cold fury like her late father's temperament. However, she was more angry about him leaving her behind and would continue to follow him, whether he explained his actions or not. 'Elizabeth Berthold' was a confirmation laced with a question, 'Leroy Dudley' was a response and explanation. 'Dudley' was a name his aunt was rather fond of, what she would have named her own child and what she had nearly placed as his middle name. When Madame Christmas had been ousted as the colonel's informat, she and some of her girls fled west to Table City. Table City also being the final destination of this train. 'Leroy' was an altered combination of Roy's name and his birth mother's. Riza was the only person besides Madame Christmas who knew the full truth behind his heritage. Maes had known, but then again, dead men knew nothing.

(Both Roy and Madame Christmas had been so sure that his parents'...ability had skipped his generation. Signs of the ability would appear during childhood and was considered non-existent if nothing happened before one's eleventh birthday. His eleventh birthday came and went without any oddities.

But the damage Wrath had done to his hands, piercing straight through his palms. He should not have been able to curl his fingers, let alone perform alchemy. Roy had been consumed by the heat of the moment so he hadn't noticed his injuries, or rather lack of them. Wounds like that don't just disappear and leave no scars behind, not without equivalence. Unless, though, magic was involved.)

{~~~}

A shout of "Boy!" was the only warning Roy had before he was glomped from behind. Normally he wouldn't be fazed. He knew exactly who had grabbed him, only Madame Christmas and his older 'sisters' ever called him just Boy, but between the waves of voices and bumping bodies that filled the darkness it was so easy to forget.

Mindless chatter devolved into screams and shouts of commands. There was a burning smell, smoke from coal he had tried telling himself. It was coal. It was coal. It was _corpse_. Someone had grabbed him from behind. Assassin? Yes, definitely. It had to be. An inexperienced one though, they didn't aim for the gloves. He still had his gloves. Roy's fingers posed to snap-

Someone grabbed his hand before he could complete the motion.

 _Shi-_

"Who might you be?" Riza's voice was enough to dispel whatever scenario his mind had conjured. "It's not exactly safe, jumping people from behind. Someone could easily draw the wrong conclusion in this _crowded train station."_ Her emphasis on last few words were for him. _Sir, this is not Ishval._ He could practically hear her say. _There are no orders to kill._

"It's fine. It's fine. It's always like this." Roy said as nonchalantly as he could manage. He felt shame bubble in his stomach. He had nearly fried one of his sisters because of an ill-timed lapse. What would have happened if Riza hadn't been there, he didn't want to think about. "Elizabeth, this is my older sister Paige. Paige this is-"

"Oh, no need for introduction Boy!" She said. Her cheery tone pushed heat into his cheeks, reminding him how common 'Elizabeth' was in his personal code. It was common enough to convince most the girls that Elizabeth was a real person. Why didn't he put more thought into choosing code names? "I know all about Elizabeth, your little sweetheart from Central. Boy here doesn't send a single letter home without him mentioning his dear Elizabeth."

"I'm surprised he talked so much about me." Riza said, taking the remark in stride. So much for pretending she was a kindly stranger helping a blind man. "He's always so private about his family life." There was too much mirth in both their voices for his liking.

"What?!" Paige said with an overdramatic screech. She grabbed him by the shoulders. "You haven't told your dearest about your sisters?! Oh Boy, oh boy, what happened to the sweet child we raised? Is my little brother ashamed of me, of us all?!"

Roy could practically feel the attention they were drawing. Paige's love for dramatics had stemmed from her years in theatre, before her time with Madame Christmas. He had found it amusing as a child but now he couldn't help but groan.

"It never really came up." Roy said, gently pushing Paige forward, hopefully towards the exit and not towards the tracks. "Now don't we have somewhere to be?"

"Oh yes! We can't keep Auntie waiting!" And with that she grabbed his arm and pulled him in the opposite direction. "I bet she'd love to meet Elizabeth!"

The crowd parted for them, the sound of people shuffling to the side was enough of an indication. Roy was careful to keep himself sure footed and head trained forward. Paige hadn't noticed how unfocused his eyes had been or at least, hadn't voiced it. Hopefully no one here would discover Truth's toll.

Behind him, Roy could swear he heard Riza chuckling.

{~~~}

"Boy!"

And almost immediately following the cry, Roy found himself tackled to the ground of the safe house. Judging by the pressure there were at least three bodies on top of him, all his sisters. He was careful to keep his arms by his side to make sure he wouldn't accidently grab anything girls wouldn't mind but they would tease him relentlessly afterwards. That was something he would prefer Riza didn't see.

"Okay girls, that's enough." Paige's voice called, somehow sounding clear beneath the smothering arms with a sense of authority that didn't hint she had done the exact same thing earlier.

Roy was better prepared for the contact this time around, mentally reassuring himself that the coming physical contact wasn't hostile. Just in case, though, Riza took his ignition gloves to prevent any instinctual snapping. It didn't leave him completely defenceless, Roy still had 'clap alchemy'. While he was yet to master it, he could still use it effectively. The additional movement also gave him the time to think his actions through.

Reluctantly, his sisters piled off him with Riza helping him back onto his feet. Roy counted the grumbling voices. One bubbly yet steady, not too fussed about having to release him. Another that was deeper and mumbling under her breath. The final one giggling with a tone that warned him that he might be tackled again.

"Simone, Katrina, Chloe. It's been too long." And in all honesty it had. These were the sisters that helped raised him, all a good ten to fifteen years older than him. Roy knew that they had moved on with their lives, searching for bigger and better things beyond The Bar just as he had.

"Too long? You could barely reach my shoulders the last time I saw you." Chloe said, giving his hair a good ruffle. He could feel her leaning on him just to reach his head, probably on the balls of her feet. "I used to give you piggyback rides! Now it looks like it's the other way around."

"Behave Chloe." Katrina said, the slight 'eep!' from the other girl implying she had been pulled back. "He could have been feeding pigs for the past several years for all we know."

"Technically, I've been playing lap dog." Roy said with a slight laugh.

Simone didn't say anything. Instead he heard two pairs of footsteps slinking away, almost missing it over Chloe and Katrina's banter. Simone and Paige were the oldest, the most observant. They could have noticed his new-found disability, seen how clouded and unfocused his eyes had been.

Katrina led him and Riza around the building while Chloe ran off to find Madame Christmas. Roy kept his steps even and measured, counting between each of Katrina's announcements. Luckily, the safe house only had one floor so there were no stairs to worry about.

"And this'll be your room." His sister stopped at a door farthest from the entrance yet was just around the corner from Madame Christmas's room. "Elizabeth can have the next room over. Remember, Boy, a woman is entitled to her privacy. Respect that or you'll be bunking with one of us."

"Katrina!" Roy yelped, his cheeks heating up. If there was one thing he missed, it was definitely the teasing.

She slapped him on the back and laughed, leading Riza into her room to help her unpack. Roy sighed and began feeling around for the door handle, latching onto it and entering the room. A slight breeze hit his face, meaning that a window had been left open. Given the wind was blowing directly on him, it was probably on the opposite wall. He expected the room to be empty, it was supposed to be a guest bedroom after all, but then he stumbled over something, causing Roy to lose balance and fall into something else. His suitcase flew out of his hands, landing on the ground with a slight pop that told him that it had burst open. Great, now he had a mess of clothes to clean up.

Roy pulled himself up, using whatever he fell on as a leverage. It was long, thin and had several 'arms' branching out from one end...a coat rack. He started grouping at the item to confirm that yes, it was a coat rack. Similar to the one he had in his childhood bedroom but not exactly the same. What was on the rack, however, was a little too familiar for comfort. The tattered fabric over a circular object could only be the old fedora one of the partons had gifted to him. It had been too big for a little Roy back then but he had grew into it during his teenage years. By now, it should be too small for his head yet it fit perfectly, covering his dark hair and foreign features. The others items he identified easily. Two worn pieces of knitted cloth that had to be his childhood scarves, one knitted by Madame Christmas while the other was one of the few things left to him by his birth parents. Like that hat, they should have been too short for him to wear but he was able to wrap both comfortably around his neck.

The feeling of warmth and nostalgia and home was overwhelming.

Roy scrambled across the floor, looking for other remnants of his childhood with no care for the scattered clothes or how undignified he appeared. He found the blanket Aunt Chris had found him in, the plush animal that he couldn't even identify even when he had his sight and the alchemy book. The handwritten text by Nicolas Flamel himself that had introduced him to alchemy. The book he had argued with an old storekeeper to have her sell it to him and the riddle he had to solve in order to win it.

All is one and one is all.

 _I am a small part of the world but the world is a part of me._

Years of military training and service couldn't stop Roy from crumbling into a ball, his childhood treasures at his chest. He had been so blind. He was literally blind. The full realisation of his disability, of Truth's toll, slammed into him.

Roy could not see.

"Roy-bo-...oh bloody hell."

Roy couldn't see but Madame Christmas could. She found her nephew in the room filled with the few things of his she had saved from Central. She found her boy truly looking like a little boy, curled into himself with all the fabric in the room, from his clothes to the bedsheets to even the curtains, wrapped around him like a barrier. Like a giant cloth creature giving him a hug. The rest of the room looked like a whirlwind had swept through with even the heavier objects, such as the desk and cabinet, displaced.

This was the freakishness...the magic that had been present throughout Lily's childhood yet completely absent from Roy's. Now,it had chosen to reveal itself.

{~~~}

Roy woke up to the feeling of the sun of his face but, of course, he opened his eyes to complete darkness. He took in a deep breath and slowly counted to ten. There was no need to panic, this was what the rest of his life was going to be.

Slowly, the blurred memories from the previous evening came to his mind. The trip to Table City and the impromptu meeting with Riza, his mental lapse at the train station, and…

Roy was lying on something soft, tucked in with his sheets snuggly like he had when he was a child. Someone must have put him into bed after his…lapse of control. One of his sisters or, most likely, Madame Christmas. Well, at least now he didn't have to worry how to approach the topic of magic.

Magic. The word left a bitter taste in his mouth. Roy was a military officer, an alchemist and a man of science. Such a concept was childish and unrealistic, beyond the scope of truth. How ironic, then, was its role in his past. He remembered openly laughing at his aunt when she revealed what his parents had been. It had been so soon after Ishval that everything barely felt real, like an eternal foggy dream.

His parents had both been wizards, practitioners of magic, meeting at a magic school and getting murder by a magical racist terrorist. It had taken Roy several moments and stern glares from Madame Christmas to realise that this was the truth and not some weird joke.

Slowly pulling himself into a seating position, Roy couldn't help but marvel at how painless he felt. The Promised Day was barely a week past and the injuries he had sustained would have had him aching for months, maybe even years, yet Roy felt more energised than he had felt in years. Even the years-old pains from Ishval were gone.

"Good morning young man."

Roy snapped into alertness, jumping out of bed on the opposite side the voice had come from. The array for atmospheric combustion spun in his mind, loaded and ready for him to fire with a clap of his hands. Instead of combusting the man like his instincts told him, Roy demanded, "Who are you?!"

The intruder chuckled, voice deep and elderly like General Grumman and most likely a dangerous as the man. "At ease, my boy. Sit down." There was the scrapping of a chair, probably pulled from the desk next to the bed if the room was composed like Roy's old one, as the man helped himself to his own seat. "I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and a friend of your parents. I can't help but notice that you are the mirror image of James, if not for Lily's eyes. You've grown into quite the striking young man Harry."

"Don't call me that." Roy said, his stance remaining tense and mind whirling. James, Lily, Harry. The man knew those names but that didn't mean that Roy trusted his claims to be a 'friend'. He was either telling the truth or was a well researched assassin. "And how did you get in here? Did my aunt let you in?"

"Reluctantly so but yes." That caused Roy to relax slightly. If Madame Christmas trusted this man, or at least deemed him enough for her boy to handle in a pre-caffeinated state, then he could give this 'Dumbledore' a measure of doubt. "We have been searching for you for over thirty years. When we heard that your home had been attacked, we rushed to the scene as quickly as possible. Three bodies were found inside and we thought all was lost. Two were your parents but the third was too large to be a child's, to have been your corpse. Then traces of a portkey were found. Though Voldemort had killed your parents there was hope that you were still alive-"

"Portkey? Voldemort?" Roy knew vaguely what those were but feigning ignorance was his best option at the moment. Dumbledore wanted to win him over, if his overly familiar actions were anything to go by, and ignorance coupled with stubbornness would be enough to see if this man was trustworthy without being manipulated. "My parents died in a car crash, no magic or wizards involved. How old do you think I am?"

There was a subtle yet sharp breath. "Who told you that, Harry?"

"My aunt." But in actuality, Madame Chirstmas had told him nothing about his parents' death when he had asked as a child. So instead, Roy had created many outlandish tales about how his parents died and how he ended up in a brothel whenever someone asked. The car crash story was the one he used whenever he wanted to swindle a couple cenz and sweets from pitying strangers. "And stop calling me Harry. I've never used that name and never plan to. My name is Roy."

"And who gave you that name?" Dumbledore asked almost too sweetly instead of accepting the information and moving on like Roy expected.

"One of my aunt's sponsors, he said something about boy not being a proper name." Roy said it in a joking manner, a smile creeping across his face as he remembered all the silly banter between Madame Christmas and the then Colonel Grumman over his given name. He expected for Dumbledore to add his own quip but the man remained silent.

"...I believe that it's best that you take this." The man said finally.

Roy did his best not to grab blindly at whatever Dumbledore was offering him and took the object, an envelope of course material, probably parchment. He fiddled with the opening, a real wax seal with some sort of crest imprinted on it.

"Did your aunt ever discourage any certain behaviours?"

That caused red to slowly bleed into the darkness of Roy's vision. He knew that tone all too well from the self-righteous overly pitying patrons to the nosey social workers who tried to rip him out of his aunt's custody. How _dare_ this man waltz into his room and accuse his aunt, who forgave him for breaking her heart and welcomed him back home despite all the blood on his hands, of abusing him of all things. "No. In fact, she encouraged it." Roy straightened his posture and once again pictured the arrays in his mind. "I do believe I haven't introduced myself properly. I am Colonel Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist of the Amerstian Military. And you, Mr Dumbledore have overstayed your welcome. Unless you wish to return to your Hogwash school in an _urn,_ I suggest you leave _now."_

"Harry I-"

Roy brought his hands together with a clap and snapped at the man's approximate location, sending a stream of flames at the wizard. There was a hollow pop and the fire scorched the back wall, its target having apparently vanished.

Roy sighed and slumped onto his bed. He may have lost his only lead and solid source on magic but no amount of knowledge was worth compromising Aunt Petunia's honour.

{~~~}

END OF PROLOGUE

{~~~}

And done!

This was not supposed to come out this late but thank you for all your patience. I jumped perspectives from Moody to Dumbledore before settling on Roy and the last scene...from a battle of wills in the living room with Riza, Madame Christmas and the Order of the Phoenix to a generally civil meeting at a cafe to a hostile encounter in an alley...at least it's done!

A big thank you to everyone who voted on the poll, it gave a good idea perspective wise on what you wanted to read. I've seen stories that focus just on one side and others that jump between the two so I was curious to see what everyone preferred.

Shipping wise, I have no idea. Romance isn't my forte so any pairings will be dependant on the established canon and how I interpret the characters and will most likely be accidental.

Also, since I've been playing through Pokemon White, I've been thinking...truth or ideals? What would you prefer? There'll be another poll up on this.


	4. About those boys

Ed was seated at his brother's bedside, silently counting his fingers. Al was asleep, as he often was most of the day. His body's time at the Gate had left it severely malnourished, barely alive and extremely weak. Being bound to a suit of armor hadn't helped much either. While doing so had kept his soul alive, it had left him starved of the basic physical sensations. There was going to be more rehabilitation beyond just putting meat back into his bones.

Once Al up was up to scratch again, healthy and full of life as it should be instead of a living corpse, Ed would resign from the military. The withdrawal forms were ready to be submitted and have been since he joined. Getting Al's body back was the only reason he joined and now with that accomplished, along with stopping the nation from being turned into a giant Philosopher's Stone and getting his arm back as a bonus, Ed saw no reason for staying, especially since he couldn't perform alchemy anymore. A state alchemist who couldn't do alchemy was a bigger joke than a child in the military. If he didn't resign, Ed was probably going to get booted out.

The only reason he hadn't turned them in already was because Mustang was still who-knows-where and he needed his commanding officer to sign off the paperwork. No one had seen a hint of the bastard since the Promised Day and he would have been declared dead, or at least missing, if Grumman hadn't assured them that he was off on 'personal business'. No one was given anymore information beyond that and given that Lieutenant Hawkeye was also missing, the two of the would be coming back soon and most likely in one piece.

When all the paperwork was filed and he was officially back to being plain old Ed again, he was Al were probably going to head back to Resembool and then they were going to-

Going to do what?

Ed turned back to Al's hand, gently rubbing his bones through a thin layer of skin and flesh. So frail and brittle but he could feel the warmth in his brother's veins. Warmth and blood and life and all the things his little brother deserved after all the shit he had put them through the past several years.

Al stirred, his body stiffening from its relaxed state as his eyes flickered open.

"Hey brother." he said, his voice dry and soft but finally free of that metallic clang. It was deeper too, his body somehow over going puberty while at the Gate.

"Morning Al." Ed replied, slowly helping his brother into a seated position. The hospital gown, hung loosely on his body, showing off knobby joints and pale skin. "How are you feeling?"

"Alive and very tired, not that I need anymore sleep." Al stretched, pulling his arms above his head and cracking a couple bones to wave off the stiffness. "Who knew bodies needed so much maintainance?"

"Bet I do, considering I've been keeping two alive for a while now. Maybe I'll gain a few more inches, considering your body's not leeching off of mine anymore."

"I don't know brother. I might need some extra nutrients from you for some body mass. Your inches will have to wait."

"Oi, get them from elsewhere!"

They paused for a moment and then laughed. Life was good now. The future could worry about itself. Right now it was just two brothers enjoying a long awaited relief.

Ed started flipping through the clipboard at the end of Al's bed. "From the looks of it, the docs say that you should be good to eat solids now."

His brother immediately perked up. "Really? Finally an end to soup and grey gelatine!" Al gazed off into nothing, completely overtaken with the thought of real food. "I really missed Granny's stew and I have to try Miss Gracia's pie and Winry's too. Maybe at the same time! And also…" He turned to Ed with a pleading look. "Do you think we could get Ling to bring over some Xingese specialties?"

"No way! That bastard would probably gulp it all down before he's even left Xing. Besides...wouldn't you want to ask May instead?"

"Brother!" Al cried, cheeks heating to a deep red blush which made a stark contrast to his pasty pale skin. Topped with the gold from his eyes and shaggy hair, it made him look almost like a circus clown. Ed couldn't help but chuckle at his brother's expense.

Al huffed. "Well then, what about you and Winry? Should I expect to be an uncle any time soon?"

Ed's cheeks reddened in response and their roles were switched. His brother was laughing now, unbridled to the point that it almost devolved into a coughing fit.

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. This was supposed to be about food, not girls." Ed mumbled.

Al slowly quieted down, a few hiccups remaining. "You still have my list brother?"

Ed nodded, bringing his suitcase from under his chair to his lap. "You wrote down a hell lot while we were travelling. We might need to go around the country again to tick everything off."

"The Elric Brothers, from searching for the Philosopher's Stone to hunting the best dishes in Amestris!" Al declared, striking a pose like Major Armstrong.

And they were both laughing again, just two boys horsing around like anyone else their age.

Ed clicked his suitcase open except, it wasn't his suitcase. It looked identical on the outside, yes, but on the inside…

"Brother, please don't tell me you lost my list."

"I think I lost out entire suitcase, Al." Ed said, pulling out the first of the many wierd things inside the case. It was a fancy looking stick. He twisted around in his hands, examining the intricate carvings along its surface.

"Let me see." Al grabbed the edge of the suitcase, turning it towards him to have a look.

He pulled out a long cloth and kept pulling and pulling until he had a ratty three metre scarf draped over him and his brother.

"Who the fuck owns this thing?! A stage magician?"

"Language, Ed." Al said automatically, but his attention was wandering elsewhere. "There's something written on it."

Ed pocketed the stick and looked where Al was pointing. A strangling golden thread among the grey fabric squiggled to look like words.

"Is it Aerugean?"

Ed read over the scrawl again. "No. I think it's Cretan." For once, he was glad for the military requiring him to learn all the languages of the surrounding nations. It was a pain considering Drachman used a different alphabet and Cretan was no rules all exceptions but at least it was paying off.

He grabbed his end of the scarf and began slowly reading the text. "Ok, I think this guy was completely fucked in the head."

"Brother!"

"It's true! Listen:

'Yarn so far make me near,

Yarn of home make me clear

The sea, the gate and hidden wall,

And send me there with little fall!'

What sort of-"

There was a hollow pop, a barely noticeable shift, and a blink later, Ed was no longer in the hospital but in an alleyway. He pulled the stupid scarf off and frantically scanned the area.

"Where…? Al? Al!"

"Over here!" Came a muffled cry.

Ed turned and there was his brother, still in his hospital gown and wrapped in the other end of the scarf.

"Al!" He rushed over, pulling Al to his feet. Were his legs really that skinny? Shit, how could he stand? How was he going to walk?

"Brother, where are we?"

"No clue." He draped his brown jacket over him. Of all the days to leave his red coat behind; it would have been much warmer. Ed also wrapped the scarf, the damn thing that got them into this mess, around Al's neck. He couldn't risk Al getting sick at a time like this.

"Up you go." Ed said, heaving his brother onto his back. Al was feather-light, most the weight coming the clothes he was wearing rather than his actual body mass.

"Hey! I can-"

"Just humor me for now, Al, until we find out where we are."

Al sighed. "Fine, just for now."

Out the corner of his eye, he spied the suitcase lying innocently a metre away. Ed wanted to punt it off into oblivion but there had been some useful stuff in it. Some spare clothes, toiletries and even a bit of cash and valuables that could be pawned. Grudgingly, he picked up the suitcase. It was too valuable to leave behind, for now.

Heading out of the alley, Ed found himself on the main street. It was obvious now they weren't in Central, or anywhere else in Amestris. The sidewalk was flooded with people, all going one way or another without any regard for the world around them. Tall rectangular buildings, taller than anything in Central, rose to the sky and lined the streets leaving only a blue path of sky visible over the road. Speaking of the road, the cars that zoomed across it were like nothing he had ever seen. Bigger and sleeker and running at speeds that would crush anyone who happened to wander across the road...if this was what civilians had access to, who knew what they're military had.

Ed shuddered at the thought. "C'mon Al, let's get some less crowded."

But already, his brother had drifted off to sleep.

Carefully, Ed made his way through the crowd in search of some sort of information centre. Experience taught him that people didn't take kindly to being stopped by a random teenager on a street. It was better to ask someone who was paid to do that sort of shit.

He did his best to keep Al concealed under his jacket by hunching over, trying to make it look like he was carrying a backpack or something rather than a malnourished person. The less questions asked the better.

The streets were starting to thin and the sun was lowering in the sky. It was getting late and they still hadn't found anything. Ed's stomach growled. Maybe they should stop at the next diner they passed. Hopefully the money in the wacko's suitcase would be accepted in wherever-the-hell-they-were.

"Hey kid!"

Ed froze. Were they calling out to him?

"Yeah! You there!"

He turned and there was a lady wearing too little clothing for this chilling weather. She stopped in front of him, panting slightly and brown ponytail still swinging from the momentum.

"Yo kid, I saw you walking all hunched and glum and- Oh shit! Is that a person?"

Ed strained his ears, trying to keep up with the woman's babble. She definitely wasn't speaking Amestrian (thank Truth he hadn't tried stopping anyone on the street), and her words were laced with a strange accent he'd never heard before.

"Are you speaking this...language?" he said slowly in Cretan.

"Yes and wow! What's with that accent? You're not from around here are you? Are you lost? Did you get separated from your parents?"

Ed heard the word lost and began nodded slightly, trying his best not to disrupt Al.

"Poor things! Leave it up to good old Jo to find your folks!"

The lady grabbed his spare hand and began dragging them off the direction she came from. Ed showed no resistance, only making sure that the jolting wouldn't make him drop Al.

Best case scenario, this lady would get them back to Amestris.

Worst (most likely) case scenario...he still had a good automail leg to kick with.

* * *

There was definitely a rule or something about not going with strangers but getting dropped in the middle of Truth-knows-where with absolutely no fucking clue on how you even got there in the first place and everyone is speaking Cretan of all things –

Yeah, Ed was taking his chances with the first friendly face he met.

The woman – Jo from what he could gather from his shoddy Cretan, didn't seem immediately threatening. She wasn't much taller than he was – maybe even the same height or, should he dare hope, shorter – and the thick glasses and dirty flannel combo reminded him of a cross between Sheska and Winry. However if there was one thing he learned from the military it was never to trust appearances.

Jo had a firm yet gentle grip on his right hand – his right flesh hand and Al on his back warm and in his own body - as she lead them down the road. In trying to avoid the crowds, Ed hadn't noticed how sparsely populated it was for a city street. A good thing for trying to avoid attention and a good place for a fight if one broke out. Property damage was always better than civilian casualties – except there wouldn't be much of that unless he kicked something really hard with the right leg. No more alchemy, right. There were a lot of things to adjust to.

She brought them to old red car – old as in Ed noticed the paint chipping in places and one too many dents around the doors but otherwise it was more advanced than any automobile that Ed had seen before. It was smaller and more compact compared to any car he had seen in Amestris with a sleeker design that was decades ahead of anything the military had. Maybe it was all purely aesthetic but if this was what civilians had, he didn't even want to think about their military.

"Come on, hop in." Jo said, unlocking the car with only a press of a button from a tiny control.

"Hop?" Did she expect then to jump on the car?

"Y'know – you can go inside. It's not going to bite you or anything." She opened the backseat door, making a wide gesture to usher them inside.

"Oh, hop." Idioms, the bane of all communication. It was bad enough when they varied between different areas but in a language he was barely competent in – good luck.

Ed slid Al in first, carefully buckling his sleeping form to the seat. Al had always been a deep sleeper when they were kids and now wouldn't be any different, especially since he had a whole lot of sleep to catch up on.

"A hospital gown?"

Ed quickly turned around. "Excuse me?"

"Ah, nothing nothing." Jo said, holding her hands up. "Just some mindless muttering, that's all."

"It better be…" Ed grumbled as he strapped himself in.

The comfort of these cars was definitely leagues ahead of anything back home. Ed could already feel himself falling into the plushness of the seats. If only train seats were this comfy, that way he wouldn't be left with a sore back every trip. That was another thing they had to add to Al's list, the joys of cross-country travel. The soft rumblings of the engine and steady lull of travel nearly sent Ed tumbling into sleep.

"…I really should bring them to the police – but the other kid definitely needs a hospital –"

"Police? Hospital?" Ed said, startling himself back awake.

Then Jo started speaking – too fast with too much volume fluctuation for Ed's limited Cretan to keep up with.

"What? Slowly, please." Ed interjected into the mumbling rant.

"Oh, sorry uh…I was thinking of going to the police but I wasn't expecting the other kid to look so bad and he looks like he's going to fall apart any minute so I thought about if –" She still wasn't making any sense.

"Where are we going now?" Ed asked.

Jo gave a nervous laugh. "The hospital."

"No."

Police officers he could deal with, they were like the military but less competent. It was hospitals he was more worried about. They were going to ask questions: about his arm, about the shrapnel still in his shoulder, about Al's entire physical state. They were going to put two and two together and realise that they had the Fullmetal Alchemist in their grasp with conveniently packaged with the perfect leverage. Ed had been sent to enough border skirmishes to know that Creta definitely knew who he was.

"But kid, the other kid-"

"I take care of brother." Ed said firmly. "We go to police first."

Paper trails are of the utmost importance to an alias, the bastard's words practically rang in his ears. Ed normally wouldn't give anything that spewed out of Mustang's mouth a second thought but if there was one thing that bastard was good at, it was manipulation. Adults of any kind treated paperwork like it was some sort of unrefusable truth, even if something directly contradicting it was right before their eyes. If he could lay some ground work with the police here, establish him and Al as nothing more as a pair of lost harmless kids, then that was best protection they could afford.

Ed struggled to stay awake for the rest of the trip. The enthralling comforts of the car were luring him into a travel nap – even if it was the hardwood of a train bench Ed would still be facing his habit of dozing off. However the moment he close his eyes, he knew their destination would change. He kept his eyes trained on the rear-view mirror, locking his gaze with the driver's.

They stopped in front of a redbrick building with 'POLICE' written in Cretan above the door.

Ed gently nudged Al awake.

"Brother where-?"

"Pretend you don't know Cretan." They didn't have time to fabricate a story together so it was best the Cretans thought only one of them knew the language.

Al's drowsiness immediately faded away. His cheeks were too hollow and skin too pale but Ed knew that steeled look Al flashed him, that unwavering support and trust in what his older brother had planned (hopefully he didn't lead them into ruin again).

{~~~}

Their names were Edward and Alphonse Curtis but they preferred to called Ed and Al. (Teacher wouldn't mind if they used her name. She and Sig might as well have adopted them at this point.)

Ed could understand a little bit of English but could speak even less while Al's was barely existent. (Mustang had sometimes insulted Ed in Cretan for some damn reason. Ed didn't stop until he was competently fluent in the language so he could throw insults back - Al had been dragged along for the ride of course.)

The brothers had much difficulty answering most of the police's questions due to the language barrier. They were obviously very close and very young as Al latched firmly onto his brother's arm. (Al was holding Ed back. The officers had guessed that they were about twelve and thirteen respectively and Ed knew how to read.)

They likely originated from Eastern Europe. How they got all the way to England with no documentation was a complete and utter mystery. Even the boys were unsure, simply shrugging, as if they had appeared out of thin air. (Partially true. They still had no idea how they got to this country. Which was apparently an island. The officers had provided a map but none of the country names or borders was familiar. There was something that could have been the Xingese Desert so they had vaguely gestured to the mass of countries west of it.)

(The officers had tried asking about their physical states but they couldn't answer. There was no simple explanation to Al's malnourished state and Ed's withered arm.)

Apparently there was someone that they could contact about their whereabouts, a legal guardian of a sort.

"No blood but he always tell us what to do." Ed had grumbled. "But good man."

"He keep Brother safe. No danger. No trouble." Al had stumbled out after several false starts trying to find the right words. "Good man."

So they handed Ed a satellite phone in hopes that they could get in contact with their 'guardian'.

(Mustang had to know someone they could contact. Hell, everyone here sounded like Mustang when he spoke Cretan and nothing like the few Cretan soldiers that Ed had the misfortune of meeting. That bastard had to know something.)


	5. A call from those boys

Roy felt stupid.

He squinted his eyes in focus as he stared into the black void of his vision. In front of him there was a coffee table with a single piece of paper on it, or according to Riza there was. For all he knew, Chloe was right and it was actually a stuffed bear on a unicycle.

"Float, float, float." he muttered under his breath, trying to 'magic' the piece of paper into the air.

Madame Christmas had given him a good dressing down for trying to barbecue the wizard. Apparently, all of his birth parents' acquaintances didn't have the best opinion of his aunt and he wasn't allowed to fry them all just for trying to help. Roy knew that he had acted irrationally then but what else was to be expected of him first thing in the morning before coffee. Now he was definitely regretting it. He doubted that he would be able to find another person who knew a lick about magic within the country.

"Oh pasty white surface, fresh and free from ink's touch." Roy sang, yes sang, in English. Magic in stories was always in prose in a foreign language, so maybe this would work. "I command thee to, hover, hover, hover and take flight into the air!"

Nothing. Not even a flutter.

"Trying to serenade the table, Boy?" Katrina said from somewhere behind him. "Are you that desperate for a date?"

"Shut up. I'm doing magic."

"Oh?" She plopped her hands on top of his head. "I thought it was alchemy."

"No, it's magic!" He said, swatting her away.

"Fine. Fine. But if you make it rain indoors again, I'm not covering for you."

Katrina laughed, her fading footsteps signalling her departure.

Roy sighed. He really shouldn't have chased that wizard off. And for what? Using a tone he didn't like? That was childish even by Fullmetal's standard.

This magic shouldn't have been a problem. He had lived thirty years without it, so why would he need it now? But there was this buzzing under his skin, ever since the Promised Day. A stream of energy just waiting to be released like an array just before it's activated. Roy knew the dangers of delaying an array for too long. Even if the equations were balanced, leaving a transmutation circle just on the brink of activation was just asking for a rebound. And one waiting to be used for over thirty years? He was practically a ticking time bomb.

Roy needed to go to England, or any other country with a decent magic community. He needed to find a master to apprentice under to get his magic under control or get rid of it completely. But that would throw a bigger wrench in his ambitions than Rockbell's at Fullmetal's head. He couldn't just disappear for five so years then come back expecting to become fuhrer. Politics didn't work like that.

The phone started to ring, luckily it was just on the side table next to him.

"Hello?"

"Finally! One of these damn numbers work. Of course it was the last one. It's always the last one."

"Fullmetal?" Roy could practically sense the headache coming. "Which town did you blow up this time?"

"Hello to you too, colonel bastard. Enjoying your vacation in the middle of nowhere?"

" What happened?" The sooner he got the paperwork filed, the sooner he could bail the brat out of whatever local jail he was being held at. Though...weren't the brothers supposed to be in hospital?

"Well...me and Al kinda got teleported to somewhere in Creta, or where people speak Cretan...wait, what was that? Thanks, Al. We're in Ronron? No, London. That sounds right. London, Iggy-land."

Something crashed.

"Madame Christmas! Boy crashed the table into the ceiling! Again." He heard Katrina cry just as Edward growled, " The fuck was that Mustang?"

Roy started massaging temple. "Nothing Fullmetal. Just... tripped over a table. Hard to navigate when you can't see a thing."

"Wait? You're still blind? Didn't Marcoh-"

"You have your own reservations and I have mine." There was a patter of footsteps people streamed into the room. Dammit, Madame Christmas at least would probably be mouthing a demand of what's going on and he would be staring blankly into space. "Start from the beginning. How exactlydid you get to England?"

"Of course you've heard of the place, bastard. Al and I were doing absolutely nothing in the hospital when I opened our suitcase and found it got swapped with some crackpot's. I mean who else would keep a fancy stick?"

"A stick?" Roy's voice remained even but a chill shuddered through his spine.

"Yeah. A stick, all carved up and fancy looking. The weirdo probably thought he was a wizard or something." Edward had no idea just how right he was. "Anyway there was also this scarf there, kinda old and ratty but nothing special - except there was some weird Cretan embroided on it."

Portkey. His mind immediately supplied. When Madame Christmas had explained his heritage she had also shared any and all magical knowledge she knew of. It wasn't much but portkeys had been one of them. That was how they had arrived in Amestris after all.

"And so the both of you grabbed it and then suddenly you were in London." Roy said dryly yet he kept a death grip on the phone. Portkeys were always made with a destination in mind. Either some travelling wizard lost his luggage or this was premeditated.

"Will you let me finish bastard?!"

"I apologise, Fullmetal. I was just trying to shorten your story."

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING-" There was muffled rustling on the other line.

"Ah, hello Colonel?" That voice definitely sounded different without the metallic undertone but it was still recognisable as the younger Elric. Unfortunately Roy still pictured a suit of armor rather than a boy.

"Hello Alphonse. It's good to hear that you're well."

"The same to you Colonel. Despite how Brother may act, we're relieved to finally be able to contact you." Apparently there was only so much politeness in the Elric family and Alphonse had the monopoly. "Though it would be nicer if you avoided riling him."

"It's a force of habit. My apologies." Because he had to remind himself, the both of them, that despite their military positions that the boys were still that - boys. "So it was a scarf that brought you two to London?"

"Sort of…" Alphonse said. "Nothing was out of the ordinary until Ed read what was on the scarf out loud."

"In Cretan?"

"No he translated it to Amestrian. It was so sudden - one moment we were in the hospital the next we were in an alley."

"And there was no nausea? No dizziness or sickness whatsoever?"

"None at all sir."

That was odd. Extremely odd. Madame Christmas was quite explicit about the effects of travelling by portkey. The extremely specific activation and the lack of travel sickness didn't sit well with him. "So where are you now?"

"With the local authorities sir. Is there anyone here we can contact?" Alphonse voice was soft and uncertain, the closest to scared that he would allow himself to sound. Roy had to commend those boys. At that age he would, rather embarrassingly, be crying for Madame Christmas.

"A contact in England." Roy said. Alphonse may have interpreted it him wondering out loud but rather it was him broaching the topic to the other occupants in the room.

"Severus Snape." Madame Christmas said immediately. "Contact Severus Snape and tell him that he owes it to Lily. He'll keep your boys safe."

Roy repeated the information exactly to Alphonse who hummed in compliance. "We'll get there as soon as possible." He added. "Please do me a favour and at least try and stay out of trouble."

Alphonse laughed. "Of course, sir...Oh and by the way, we're using Teacher's surname. Brother's reputation has a habit of preceding us."

"Smart thinking." Roy doubted that the Elrics' exploits would have reached all the way to England but it was always safer to be working under an alias.

"Congratulate Brother, it was his idea and - oh, the officers want to speak with you."

"Alright but the both of you stay safe, that's an order and it goes double for Fullmetal."

There was some more background chatter then Alphonse replied, "Brother said get to the island in one piece and not to get too soaked. Have a safe trip Colonel."

Then there was the sound the phone being passed. However, immediately after that the line went dead.

Roy held the phone to his ear for several more moments before placing it down. So, the Elrics were in London.

The Elrics were in London.

OF ALL PEOPLE IT HAD TO BE THE ELRICS-

A burst. A crash.

AND OF ALL THE TRUTH DAMNED PLACES IT HAD TO BE LONDON.

"And there go the pipes. Wanna do any more 'alchemy', Boy? How about doing the stove next."

"Not. Helping. Katrina."

"Enough. Both of you!"

Two steady hands were placed on Roy's shoulders. Madame Christmas.

Roy took a final breath, clearing his thoughts. Stupid, stupid, stupid. This newfound 'magic' was doing nothing useful other than making his emotions go out of control.

Madame Christmas gave him a final firm pat. "Now, let's talk. Hopefully with no more incidents." She said. "So your child soldier was on the phone."

Roy winced slightly at her accusation. His aunt, for all her military contacts, had made her distaste for the government clear.

"The brothers aren't in Central," Riza clearly stated, not questioned. "But they aren't in any state to travel." 'And neither are you, sir.' was also implied.

Roy leaned further back into the chair, which was actually a soft couch of some kind given that he was met with little resistance. "Apparently, they're in London."

Then there was a pause. A slightly awkward silence.

"London." Simone finally said. "As in the same London where you and Madame Christmas are from?"

"But that's like really far away!" Chloe exclaimed. "As in across the oceans far away and there's not even any oceans near Amestris!"

"Not to mention Amestris is still at war with all neighbouring countries, the government would have declared war on the desert too if that were possible." added Katrina.

Simone scoffed. "By declaring war on Xing of course or by pulling a small skirmish out of proportion. It's not like they've never done that before."

"Pitting Amestris's own citizens against each other when there's no one else to fight. Exactly what a civilised nation would do." Katrina said.

Ah yes, joining the military earned Roy no favours with his family. But Roy agreed with them. That what he was in the military for anyway, to change the corrupted government from the inside.

"But how was that even possible? Two boys in the heart of Central being whisked away to a country not even shown on most maps?" Paige asked, taking control of the conversation before it could devolve into gossip and cheap shots at the military. Though dramatic at times, she was also the most practical.

"Magic." Madame Christmas firmly stated, bringing any discussion to a clear end. "The same magic that brought me and Boy here."

"Magic that targeted the brothers specifically." Riza added, stating the fears that were already abound in Roy's mind.

Besides misinterpreted alchemy, there was absolutely no magic in Amestris - at least, nothing that resembled what his birth parents practised. There was only one person who could have possibly planted the portkey…

...and if that was how Dumbledore going to play, then so be it.

"We have to go to London."

And as expected, his sisters once again voiced their protests.

"Do I have to remind you that London's,like, really really far away?"

"Not to mention all the war surrounding Amestris."

"And don't you dare think that we haven't noticed you're completely blind, Boy."

In all honesty, Roy wasn't at all surprised by the last one. Though he had tried to conceal it, his sisters and Madame Christmas knew him all too well. He couldn't sneak a stray dog pass them and it was foolish to even think he could have hidden his visual impairment.

However, there was one voice he was listening for.

"I'll get started on preparations, sir." Hawkeye said dutifully. She knew that there was no stopping him and there was no question if she would be accompanying him. Of all the people in the room - among himself and the women who literally raised him - Hawkeye undoubtedly knew him the best.

* * *

Roy sat in Madame Christmas' office. Madame's special whiskey was open between them - every gulp literally burning down his throat.

"I'm going with you." Madame Christmas said. She had taught him that vocal firmness that left no questions - and he hated being on the receiving end of it.

"You're a civilian." It wasn't an argument, just a fact.

"And you're my boy." She said just as factually. "Besides, even if my knowledge is thirty years out of date, it's better than going there completely blind."

Roy leaned over her desk, tapping at his temple."Ah but you see Madame, I am going there blind."

"Who taught you that cheek?"

"Who else did?"

Madame Christmas gave a sharp laugh. "That old man was supposed to teach you discipline, not mischief. At least I can see why your boys are off running wild."

"The Elrics are not mine." Roy said curtly, leaning back into his chair. "They belong to no one but themselves and each other."

"Oh? Then what were those papers for then?"

"You know the bureaucracy as well as I do, Madame. Any other officer offering to sponsor them would have done the same."

"Legalities is one thing. Guardianship is another. Do they even know?"

"It was implied and they are aware of it." No matter how corrupt the military was, there was no easy way for a twelve year old child to enlist. He wasn't exactly their guardian and he was the farthest thing from a parent but it was enough to ensure Elric-related paperwork always landed on his desk.

Roy heard Madame Christmas pour out another two glasses of whisky but he was certainly missing another dozen visual clues that he would have to compensate somehow. He would have preferred being deaf, at least then he could lipread.

"Getting to London won't be easy. There's no doubt we'll be digging into a lot of unfinished business. I don't know the details of that 'war' my sister was fighting but both she and that blasted man -"

"They made powerful enemies who will want me dead." Roy interjected. He knew this spiel. It was why they were so careful with their names and accents. "I know what I'm getting into. Do you doubt I can handle it?"

"It's not just their enemies but their allies as well. Wizards value their own - I remember that witch wouldn't leave our house until our parents had agreed to send my sister to their magic school. Once they find out you're magic as well, they won't want to let you go."

"Edward and Alphonse have people waiting for them to come home." He had offered them a way to restore their boys now he was obligated to give them a way back.

Then Madame Christmas sighed. "And that's worth leaving while the military is still unstable - when it's the prime time to grab for power? There's no telling who will be in charge next. You might not have your stripes anymore by the time we return."

Ah, so that was what it was. It wasn't just about the magic. Yes, Roy knew that this was the worst possible time to be leaving Amestris. There was a good chance that this little expedition would be a major setback if not throwing away everything both he and his team had spent the past decade working for.

"I need to bring my boys home." There he said it, what Madame Christmas was trying to wring out of him.

Roy wasn't their parent and he was just barely their guardian but Edward and Alphonse were worth everything to bring them back safely.

He heard Madame Christmas gulp down her whiskey and made a grab for his own glass. By sheer luck he didn't knock it over and it managed to make it down his throat without spilling a drop.

There were preparations to be made and people to contact but that could all be left to a later date. However, there was one thing that was ebbing at Roy's mind that couldn't wait until tomorrow.

"Who's Severus Snape?"

"An old neighbour." There was a wistful almost-fondness in her voice and she certainly had that smile she saved for her England memories. "He went to school with both your parents. However he absolutely despised your father and he and my sister had a falling out in later years. He also dropped a tree branch on me that one time."

So not someone Madame Christmas was on the best of terms with but definitely someone she trusted. "The Elrics are going to give him hell."


	6. How are they her boys

**...happy new year?**  
 **Yeah haven't updated in a long while because reasons, mainly laziness, lack of focus and fandom jumping. While rereading what's been done so far, I realized that I wrote myself into a corner with the original chapter 5 so I rewrote everything from chapter 4. Basically I split chapter 4 in two, added some stuff then continued on from there so please start from there.**  
 **Can I promise regular updates? Sadly no. Will I abandon this fic? Hopefully not.**  
 **I've got a better idea for where I want this to go now and hopefully I'll see it through to the end. The whole poll thing in the past was because I had two ideas for this story and had no idea which one people would be more interested in so I made a bunch of vague polls. Sorry about that.**

* * *

It had started out as an ordinary morning at Hogwarts. The end of the year was only two months away and the main discussion on the the student and teacher tables were the end of year exams. That and the conspicuously empty chair at the head of the table. It was just over a week since Headmaster Dumbledore's sudden disappearance and the school's gossip mill was churning with explanations.

Of course, the teachers knew that Dumbledore had left for personal reasons and he had been admitted that he may be gone for the rest of the year. McGonagall, being the ever dutiful deputy headmistress as she was, had taken his role in his absence with her duties as Head of Gryffindor being delegated to the student teacher Neville Longbottom. Should all go well, Longbottom would take over both that role and Sprout's position as Herbology professor as she retired with Head of Hufflepuff passing to Care for Magical Creatures professor, Silas Kettleburn.

This however did not stop the teachers contributing to the rumours circulating throughout the Great Hall.

"He had seemed rather frantic, possibly a relative had gotten sick?"

"Impossible, the only living relative he has is old Aberforth down is Hog's Head. He wouldn't be gone that long for him."

"Maybe an old lover on her deathbed and he had to give his confession."

"If so, it would be _his_ deathbed - didn't you know…"

And with that Severus tuned out the rambling of his coworkers. The lot of them were grown adults yet they felt the need to act like teenagers. Dumbledore had been vague yet transparent with the circumstances surrounding his departure so there was no need to dig into his personal life.

However, Severus would have indulged some of them had Dumbledore not disclosed to him before his leave. It had been a small globe in the corner of the Headmaster's office with a single dot alight in eastern Europe.

" _He's alive, Severus. Harry Potter survived."_

The information shook to the very core - even now, he couldn't even hold his cutlery straight as those words whirled in his mind.

The Wizarding World had celebrated the death of the Dark Lord that night but no one could ascertain how that had been the case. James Potter had been found dead in the living room, Lily's body was found curled around the crib and the Dark Lord's lifeless form had laid before her.

The story went that James Potter had struck a fatal blow before he had been killed but the Dark Lord hadn't scummed to its effects until he had murdered his wife and child. Potter was still celebrated as The-Man-Who-Won, no one even giving the thought that muggleborn Lily could have been the one to defeat the Dark Lord. Little Harry was mourned as the last victim of Dark Lord, an unfortunate loss of life barely after it had started.

However there had been scorch marks lining the walls of the nursery and the crib had been completely empty. The baby's body was nowhere to be found and Dumbledore had held to the foolish hope that the boy had somehow survived.

Severus had written it off as a fool's dream - Dumbledore's senile old mind trying to deal with the guilt. Severus just accepted that his beloved Lily had died and he had no one to blame but himself and his foolish pride.

But now, thirty years later, there was proof that the boy might have survived. The logical part of Severus told him that it was a trap because why else would the boy's location appear now of all times. There was part of him that resented the boy's apparent survival because whatever magic that had saved him could have just as well have saved Lily.

Yet tiny sliver of him desperately hoped that the news was true - that somehow, against all odds, Harry Potter had survived that night. He wouldn't be a boy anymore but a grown man of thirty and there was no doubt he would be the spitting image of his father but…

Out there, in some hidden corner of Eastern Europe, Lily's boy was alive.

A snowy owl landed on his plate, disrupting both Severus's thoughts and breakfast.

He glared at the owl but it only hooted and dropped the letters in its beak right on top of his eggs.

"That's a lovely owl you've got there." Muller said, leaning over the table to gently pat the bird. "What's her name?"

"Nothing." Severus replied as he sorted through his yolk covered papers.

Antonia Muller was young enough that he could have taught her but unlike most of the teachers, she had never attended Hogwarts. Severus was on amicable terms with her but so was the rest of the staff. She was the nice mild-mannered type of person that would be easily forgettable had she not been the one to replace Binns as the History of Magic professor (a thankful departure though the ghost still held lectures on the Goblin Rebellions and Giant Wars to whoever was willing to listen)- the kind of person that would definitely have been sorted into Hufflepuff. Indulging her in conversation, however, would always lead to her rambling about her muggle great-grandfather and great-great-uncle.

"That's an unfortunate name for such a beautiful bird." She said, taking him far too literally. "Maybe you should call her Hedwig - you know, after that famous witch from the middle ages. The one who would take in children who were orphaned by the witch hunts. Opa used to tell me-"

"You can call her Hedwig." Severus said to appease her.

He had gotten the owl at the end of summer after he had returned to Spinner's End to find that his water had been cut off. The owl was bring any letters sent there, mostly his utility bills given he hadn't quite understood how to get them paid automatically. With the sparsity of muggle mail he had the owl trained to be self-sufficient given that he wouldn't be at the residence most the year. He had thought to name the owl himself but calling it Lily would be disrespecting her memory and no other names had came to him.

One letter in particular caught his eye. It had been spared from any food stains and showed quite clearly that it was from the police department - the muggle police department.

That was extremely odd. It's contents proved to do nothing more but to add to his confusion.

 _To Mister Severus Snape,_

 _By recommendation of their guardian, you have been considered for the custody of..._

* * *

"Edward and Alphonse Curtis." Minerva muttered after having read through the letter herself. "The names don't sound the slightest bit familiar."

Severus had promptly invited her to his office after spending the day between classes making certain that the letter wasn't some sort of elaborate prank. The house elves provided dinner for the pair while the rest of the school was in the Great Hall - no doubt that their absence would result in even more inane rumours circulating.

"It could be a trap." Severus said, resisting the urge to start pacing. Minerva had transfigured herself a chair but he couldn't find it in himself to sit down. "With Dumbledore off chasing after a boy who has been dead for thirty years."

"I would have thought you of all people would be relieved that young Harry had survived."

Severus bit back the retort that he would have prefered that it was Lily. "If the boy is alive, it's practically guaranteed that he's a squib. How else could he have gone unnoticed for so long?"

"Someone could have been protecting him." Minerva offered. "Kept him safe until he was old enough to defend himself."

"So safe that even _Dumbledore_ couldn't find him?"

"You never know."

"It's all too coincidental."

Then there was silence. Severus was hoping that Minerva, the ever logical and stern professor, would see how ridiculous this letter was and agree that it was all fake - but then again, he also expected her to talk Dumbledore out of his fool's journey rather than supporting him.

"You should go." Minerva said finally.

"But-"

"Classes won't be a problem. Pomona can manage your Potions classes - it will also allow Neville a chance to ease into being the fulltime Herbology professor. I'll be able to manage your Head of House responsibilities." Minerva was quick and sharp, refuting his arguments before they even left his mouth. This was what she should have done to Dumbledore. "You need to go. There are two young boys waiting."

"I don't even know them." Severus weakly protested. He was almost fifty but that old witch made him feel like an irrational child again.

Minerva took a deep breath, looking every decade of her many years. "Did you know, had no one else been capable, James and Lily would have entrusted Harry to me. They knew that I, not only as their former professor but as _Head of their House,_ would have kept their child safe. Isn't there a student who would trust you to do the same?"

* * *

With his responsibilities covered and Minerva's prompting, Severus found himself at the muggle police station in London at a ridiculously early hour filling out the paperwork for temporary guardianship over Edward and Alphonse Curtis.

"Under normal circumstances, we wouldn't be handing these kids over to you - at least, not so quickly." the muggle officer, Dresden, said. There was nothing particularly outstanding about the man's appearance besides an overall impression of unkept. He had a several day old stubble, strands of brown hair peeking out of his cap and what was definitely a coffee stain on his unbuttoned collar.

Severus gave a slightly curious hum. He was never one for small talk but any information he could get on those boys was valued.

"Considering that they were found wandering the streets with literally no ID, we haven't been able to get in contact with their guardian again and one of them doesn't even look like he should be _alive_...those boys should be in protective custody, not with some random greasy git - no offence."

"None taken," He had been called worse things by students and this man was obviously under a lot of stress. "Though under all those circumstances, why are you giving me custody?"

Dresden sighed and took another gulp of his cold coffee. "Those boys refuse to go with anyone else. It was hard enough getting them to the hospital for the medical attention they needed, not to mention the riot the little one kicked up when we tried separating them, and we can't really explain to them what's going on. They just want _you_ and have literally tried to bite off the hand of anyone else who's come close."

The boys sounded absolutely feral but Severus wisely kept that to himself. "Why can't you explain things to them?" he asked instead.

"The boys' English is practically non-existent. We've been communicating more through charades than with words. We tried to figure out their native language but it's like the bastard lovechild of German and Russian raised by a Jap, there's no way it's an actual language." Dresden gave a mournful last gulp of his coffee before gathering up the completed papers to be filed.

"Do you know who their guardian is?" Severus asked before Dresden could disappear into the other room.

"Oberst Hurensohn...we think." Dresden said with a groan, obviously frustrated by the lack of information they had on the boys. "It could be a name, it could be a title, we have no clue - but from what we've pieced together from when the boys were talking to him, it's definitely what they call their guardian. We think the little one respects him a great deal considering he calls him the full thing while the sickly one just calls him 'Oberst'."

That sparked absolutely no recognition though Severus had a feeling that 'Oberst Hurensohn' definitely wasn't the guardian's actual name.

When Dresden returned, Severus asked, "So which brother is the 'small one' and which is the 'sickly one'?"

That cracked a laugh out of the tired officer. "It'll be obvious when you see them but Alphonse is the sickly one and Edward's the small one - just don't call him small to his face."

* * *

Sickly wasn't the word that Severus would use to describe Alphonse Curtis. Skeletal would be more appropriate considering he looked like a skeleton barely wrapped in skin rather than an actual boy. His brother looked significantly healthier, dressed in all black rather than a hospital gown and his only visible ailment being his right arm which was in a comparable malnourished state to his brother's entire body.

Alphonse was asleep when they entered the room but Edward's piercing gaze locked onto them from his brother's bedside. Severus had never seen yellow - no _golden_ eyes like that anywhere in the muggle world or wizarding world. It was like a precious metal or a demon's.

"Officer." Edward said, though his accent made it sound like ' _opishor'._ "Severus Snape?"

Severus nodded then the boy muttered something in his own tongue though Snape definitely heard ' _Oberst Hurensohn'_ amongst the foreign words.

"So I guess I'll leave you guys to it." Dresden said, patting Severus slightly on the shoulder. "Just holler if you need me and _please_ not turn out to be a kidnapper."

Severus scowled but said nothing more, taking the vacant chair besides Edward.

The boys look completely unfamiliar. There was nothing in either of their facial structures that sparked any similarity to any Slytherin, let alone student, that he had taught - looking very distinctly foreign and something he would have recognised had he seen it before. Their colouring was also very striking, their hair, rather than blond, was a gold that matched their eyes. Severus had a feeling he read something about that kind of colouring but that was something that he could look up at a later date.

Edward had been eyeing him suspiciously since the officer had left the room. He said something slowly in his language, probably in a futile attempt to help Severus understand.

"I don't speak your language." Severus said tersely. There was no use trying to use words when they were unable to understand each other.

Edward broke into a string of angry words, most likely curses worthy of getting his mouth washed out with soap. Though he was obviously trying to keep his voice down, his brother had awaken to the noise.

The brothers were conversing in their language but Severus could extrapolate that Edward tried coaxing his brother back to sleep, something that Severus certainly agreed with. Even with the best magical treatments, it would be at least a month before Alphonse would be in any condition to be released.

"Ah," Alphonse said suddenly, breaking from his conversation with his brother to acknowledge Severus's existence. "Severus Snape?"

Severus once again nodded then the boy said something completely unexpected in his heavily accented English.

"You owe it to Lily."

Shock gripped Severus and Severus gripped the bedridden boy, leaping out of his chair and grabbing him by the collar of his hospital gown.

"How do you know that name?!" Severus demanded into those panicking golden eyes. There was nothing about these boys that indicated any connection to Lily Evans yet they had called for _him_ of all people specifically because of her.

The boy choked, coughing and spluttering and failing to form any words. The logical part of Severus' mind told him that the boy was in no condition to be put under such stress and that he was overreacting and winning no favours with the boys but a part of him that had been riddled with grief and heartbreak for thirty years _demanded_ to know.

" _Oberst_ Roy Mustang." The boy croaked.

Before Severus could get any more answers, the brother kicked him to the ground with a leg too hard and solid to be made of flesh and blood. Fury blazed in those golden eyes but before he could do anymore, the door was flung open.

"Hey Ed! Hey Al!" A bright female voice greeted. "How - Who's he and why are you two on the floor?"

"Jo." Edward said, standing up and not even offering to help Severus. "Nothing. Trip."

Severus got up slowly, wincing at the pain in his shin. Just what exactly was that boy's leg made of?

He remembered Joanne Rowland from the boys' file. A simple desk clerk who had first found the boys wandering the London streets on her day off. She looked exactly like her photo on the file, thick round glasses and brown hair in a high ponytail. What caught him by surprise was the familiar bushy haired woman by her side.

"Professor Snape?"

"Hermione Granger." She was one of the more memorable students he had taught. A Gryffindor coming from the same batch as Longbottom, she was a brilliant know-it-all that Severus had begrudgingly grown to respect over the years. He had heard of her accomplishments under Madame Bones in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement with ascent through the ranks being hindered only by her blood status.

Three pairs of eyes darted between them before Rowland finally asked, "You know him 'Mione?"

"Professor Snape was my Chemistry teacher back in boarding school." Granger said without missing a beat.

"So you must know him really well then!" Rowland said, a little too bright and chirpy to be genuine. "So I'll just leave you two to catch up and stay with Al while Ed and I go grab some grub down in the cafeteria. Ed must be pretty restless to be tripping over people. Maybe we can catch up with Officer Dresden if he's here."

And just as quickly as those words flew out of her mouth, Rowland had Edward by his left hand and out of the room with the door slamming behind them.

"Well." Severus said, trying not to sound too stunned.

Granger simply sighed and took up Edward's former seat. "Joanne Rowland, my roommate. She's like that - a lot of the time." She then turned to the bedridden boy. "Hermione Granger, Jo's friend."

The boy gave a cough then a weak smile. "Alphonse. Ny...Ny-su meet you."

"Nice to meet you as well." Granger replied, returning the smile.

Severus sat back in his own chair and made no attempts at small talk. If there was one thing he had learned about Gryffindors over the years it was to never give them an opportunity to brag about their accomplishments and he distinctly remembered Granger for her inability to shut up.

However with Granger her, there was no way Severus could question Alphonse though he doubted that the boy or his brother would say anything again after his lapse in emotion - or trust him at all in the matter.

It was a surprise to all of them that it was Alphonse who broke the silence before it could lie.

"So Chemistry." Alphonse said clearly despite the thickness of his accent. "Chemistry like...uh... _Renkinjutsu_...um, Al-ke-mie?"

" _Alchemy?"_ Severus breathed.

The boy immediately perked up. "Yes. Alchemy."

These boys had a magical upbringing? Why else would they connect Chemistry with the dead art of _Alchemy?_

He didn't dare turn to Granger who was probably bursting with questions and ready to spew them out given the chance. The last thing he needed was Granger scaring the boy into not talking.

"Show us." Severus said. He had to confirm what these boys knew. If they were magic then that changed everything.

The boy's eyes flicked between him and Granger with a glimmer of reluctance, then he picked up the jar of cold water by his bed and slowly brought it to his lap. With a bony finger, he sketched something into the condensation of the glass. A _transmutation circle_ \- a work of advanced alchemy that wizards twice Severus's age barely grasped, let alone draw so quickly without reference.

Alphonse sent them one last glance before pressing his finger on the completed circle. There was a crackle of blue light then the water in the jar was completely frozen.

This wasn't just a bedridden boy, this was a real life _alchemist._

Severus was definitely going to hunt down this _Oberst Hurensohn_ or Roy Mustang or whatever his name was and find out _how_ he knew about Lily and _why_ he dropped these boys on him.

* * *

 **Oberst Hurensohn = Colonel Bastard and someone is going to call Roy that thinking that's his name.**


	7. Subterfuge, Boy, for this little ploy

In one Auror Dean Brazier's opinion it was too early for this shit.

He slammed the interrogation room door open with way too much force than necessary but fuck it. He didn't fly all the way across the Atlantic on broomstick to deal with some border hoppers/possible spies.

He had to give his interrogee some credit for not flinching at all, simply staring at the opposite wall with white gloved hands tightly clasped on the table. The man was either young or extremely baby faced, somewhere between fresh out school and Dean's own mid-life crisis age of thirty-something. He seemed to have a decent grasp on no-maj clothing with a grey checkered sweater vest over a white button down and black slacks. So he would hopefully be a no-maj-born or half-blood - he didn't feel like dealing with good old pureblood fanaticism and socking some duke or something in the face.

"So Leroy Dudley Evans, eh?" Dean said, sliding into the opposite chair and dropping the guy's fine on the table between them. One of the few good things about being on the Cretan border was that things didn't look like they were stuck in the Dark Ages. If it wasn't the asscrack of dawn, he would have loved to make some joke straight out of a no-maj cop drama.

Evans perked up at his name, head turned vaguely in Dean's direction as if he could see through that messy mop of black hair and coke bottle glasses so thick that his eyes weren't even visible. Not that it mattered though considering his file claimed that he was blind.

"Ah, y-yes sir." Evans stumbled, as if he wasn't sure of his own name. His accent was definitely British so Dean thankfully wouldn't have to whip out his elementary school French or something. "Is this going to take long?"

"Normally you'd be going through bureaucracy hell for a stunt like this but considering the recent crisis and the European lot are running around like idiots, you get me and I'd like this over quickly." Maybe there was a bit more spite than there should be but reason Dean was even on this continent was to deal with said crisis.

"Eh? What happened?" Evans asked _oh so intelligently._

Dean resisted the urge to grab the idiot by the collar and start shaking him until his brain cells start functioning. He instead said with a surprising amount of calm, "Have you been under a _fucking rock_ these past couple months?"

Evans' shoulders dropped and his cheeks flushed red. "Well, I was at my mother's with my fiancee Bessy and, uh, she's a muggle - my mother that is, Bessy's a squib, magic's all on my father's side you know - and all her neighbours are the nosy sort so I can't exactly get the paper owled. Also there were some really interesting...uh, things that really caught my attention-"

"So you were too busy fucking your girl in your childhood bedroom? Fair." Dean interjected before the rambling could go on any further. Not that he would blame Evans if that was the case. Squib or no, that blonde was hot piece of ass he would have leapt on if she wasn't already taken (but he might take the chance later if she happened to be interested).

Evans turned even redder. "What?! No! I wouldn't - couldn't even, why would you say that?" he spluttered.

"Then what else had you so engrossed to make you so oblivious to what every witch and wizard was gossiping about?"

"...my late father had left me some rare tomes-"

And Dean cut him off with a groan. Professionalism be damned but what sort of oblivious idiot would ignore a crisis throwing the whole wizarding world and a beautiful betrothed for some dusty old _books?_ One that was literally blind apparently.

"How can you even _read_ if you're bat-shit blind?" Dean asked, half out of exasperation, half out of the inconsistency of a blind person reading. He may not be much of a reader but he knew for a fact that 'rare tomes' generally came with rare curses that didn't take well to their contents being magically read out loud and most definitely came without a Braille edition.

"Bessy was reading them to me." Evans said with a sickeningly lovesick sigh. "She has the most enthralling voice, comparing it to angels would just be insulting."

Maybe Dean had a better chance with the blonde than he thought if her fiance's idea of romantic was her reading him a bedtime story.

"So what has been going on?" Evans suddenly asked. "It wouldn't stop us from flooing back to London, would it?"

Dean gave a harsh laugh. This guy really had absolutely no idea what was going on. "We've got some terrorists systematically destroying the international floo networks."

Evans immediately sat up ramrod straight. "Terrorists?!" he squeaked. "Like...like…"

"Nope. Not like Voldemort and his merry band of Death Eaters." Dean said and Evans flinched so hard that he looked like he would fall off his chair. Damn, he forgot that Europeans still thought of that Dark Lord like he was the devil incarnate. "At least, not yet. We still don't know what they want or how many of them there are."

It was a source of a ridiculous amount of frustration that the 'Floo Disruptors', as they had been dubbed, hadn't made the slightest attempt to reveal themselves. Given the scale of these events, why they hadn't taken the opportunity to gloat or rally people to their cause. Or maybe, as some were beginning to speculate, their goal was to cause general chaos and mayhem.

"What about portkeys?" Evans demanded while wringing his hands. "Can we at least organise one of those?"

Well it seemed someone wanted to get out of here quickly. Interesting.

Dean leaned over the table and lowered both his pitch and volume. "You've got somewhere you got to be, pal?"

Evans gulped and his breathing quickened, grasping his hands even tighter with his fingers rubbing together. "Yessir."

"How about I cut you a deal? You tell what you and your buddies were doing on the Cretan border and I'll see what I can do to get you to London. How about that?"

"Of course."

And Dean leaned back into his seat while Evans visibly exhaled, though he was still rubbing his fingers. Maybe it was a little underhanded pulling that on a blind guy but he should be grateful that he didn't get Veritaserum shoved down his throat.

"From the beginning would be nice." Dean prompted before the man wore a hole through his gloves.

Evans didn't stop rubbing his fingers but he did start talking, "Have you heard of the Ruins of Xerxes?"

Dean nodded, who didn't know of the nation that disappeared in a day?

"Well, I thought it would be fun to go a little sightseeing, see if we could learn something new - you know, with how advanced Xerxes was for its time and its abundance of knowledge. Considering mother and my future brother-in-law's partner are both muggles, we couldn't take most wizarding transportation so we decided to go the muggle way - have a little tour of Europe and all that."

"So why cut across Creta? You could have easily gone around north Scandinavia and the Baltics. There's tons to see and they've even got no-maj, that is, muggle-friendly guided tours through to Xerxes."

"Because it's quicker?" Evans asked, thoroughly confused.

Dean was dumbstruck. How could this guy not even know? Sure Evans couldn't see his face but he had to pick up on how much of an unaware idiot he was from the silence. "You do know what Creta is, right?"

"A country?"

Dean took a deep breath and tried to give the man the benefit of a doubt before he died of frustration. Maybe Evans grew up with the worst of both worlds: an old-fashioned pureblood father who didn't give a damn about international magical politics and a no-maj mother who was completely ignorant.

"Creta is an international military base." Dean explained slowly. "The biggest there is, both magical and muggle. The name's an acronym for something or other but it's basically where the European Magical Union pools all its military resources for war. The border you just tried to cross? That was the _warfront."_

"All of Europe…" Evans mumbled, most likely awestruck.

"The war's been going on for _centuries._ I don't have time to give you a whole lecture but here's the gist of it. After Xerxes went poof, the city states it controlled went to war with each other and one of them was _very_ good at war. They had this enchantment that cancelled out their opponent's magic on the warfront while they used crazy transfiguration and no-maj weaponry to absolutely _slaughter_ the opposition - and they just kept going and going until the rest of magical Europe couldn't ignore them any longer. The E.M.U. was formed to keep the war contained. They made three bases to fight the war on all fronts: Drachma, Aerugo and-"

"Creta." Evans finished, finally catching on to everything. "This...this explains so much. We knew there was some fighting in the area but...to this extent..."

Dean nodded his head, even though Evans wouldn't see it, and hummed in solidarity. "A shocker, right?"

Evans was silent, his head bowed to his hands and bangs completely obscuring his face.

"You alright there?" Dean asked. "Evans?"

"There were two others with us." Evans said finally, his head still bowed. "Edward and Alphonse, a pair of brothers under my care. We thought it would be nice to bring them along...I insisted on it. It was supposed to be some quality time together before we sent them off to Hogwarts…"

A chill ran down Dean's spine. Border security only picked up five people. There hadn't been any children. "Are they-"

"Safe. They're safe. They have to be." Evans said breathily with a deep exhale. "We had an emergency portkey, just in case anything happened. I think we were halfway across the border when we heard they yelling - and then there was gunfire. I was supposed to apparate us away so we could take the portkey safely but, but I - I _dropped_ my bloody wand and the boys were in danger…and I definitely heard one of them trip and I - I wasn't thinking, just that they- they-"

Evans breathing grew more erratic and damnit - Dean's job was to catch dark wizards, not deal with hyperventilation civilians.

"Breathe, man. Breathe," Dean said, trying to sound as comforting as he could. "If you faint on me then all this will take a helluva lot longer."

Evans calmed himself surprisingly quickly but he was still extremely tense. "Sorry. It's just that...you only picked up the five of us: mother and me and Bessy, Jimmy and Simon and I know - I _know_ I heard the portkey activate but sometimes...sometimes they don't tell me things that...they think because I didn't _see_ it mean I don't need to _know what happened_ and...and-" He stopped himself to take another deep breath then he raised his head. "You need to know what happened - or what _I think_ happened. Then, then we can go back to London and make sure the boys are alive."

"Right." Dean didn't tell him that all international magical transport - the unaffected parts of the floo network, portkeys and even enchanted muggle vehicles - was being strictly regulated. He didn't tell him to take his chances with no-maj transport given that none of them - even the no-majs of their group - had a passport or any no-maj identification and the E.M.U. would throw them into months of processing hell while trying to get the documentation. He didn't tell him that they were supposed to be kept in a detention centre for another three months _at least_ to make sure they weren't spies.

Dean was an auror, one of the best the Magical Congress had to offer, but he also had a fucking heart. His gut told him that Evans was telling the truth - that he wanted nothing more than to be reunited with his boys. Sure, his superiors were going to have a field day if they ever found out but Dean was going to do everything in his power to help them get to London.

* * *

The Elrics were not part of the final draft of their cover story but Creta being a magical community, or rather for all the surrounding nations being magical coalitions with the sole purpose of keeping Amestris contained, was not expected at all. So utilising his limited magic vocabulary, Roy embellished the story with sprinkles of their true intentions. Whether it was a testament to Roy's acting skills or proof of wizards' gullibility, the auror interrogating him had not only bought the cover story but had ran with it for another several miles.

Brazier vouched for 'Leroy Dudley Evans', convincing his superiors not only to release them the next morning but also promising him the quickest route to London despite the current travel restrictions. Brazier may have acted uncouth but there was the genuine desire to help out someone in need. Auror Dean Brazier was going to utterly despise Roy Mustang when turned out they actually were from Amestris.

Roy was certain they would meet again when he was in full military regalia. He couldn't disregard this 'expedition' as the perfect opportunity to gather information on the outside world. Regardless of who the next fuhrer would be, it was near certain that their international policy would be more than perpetual war now that the Homunculi pulling the strings were gone. Someone already acquainted with the surrounding nations and beyond would be indispensable. Roy needed that security, especially now when he could be easily discharged for his disability.

But being a manipulative bastard could wait until he had the brat willing to call him that to his face back yelling profanities at him.

Tonight, Roy would dream about the future and try to let his political plans outweigh the worry that plagued his mind. Tomorrow, he was going to avoid getting scolded and find an owl.

* * *

 **This is one of the chapters that I had to spew out as quickly and coherently as possible before I sit on this story of another year an a half - so yeah. It's great that there's still interest in this fic after I nearly forgot it existed and I thank everyone for their support and patience.**

 **International policies are going to play a bigger part later on but first I need to get everyone to London first and that's going to take a while.**

 **Being slightly inconvenienced by the floo system getting damaged it better than getting framed for it's destruction, no ne?**


	8. Fitting a Boy

After four years of automail linked directly to his nervous system, there should have been complications when Ed got his flesh arm back. Numerous unavoidable _guaranteed_ complications. Misinterpretation of nerve signals, unresponsive functions, muscle degradation, excessive effort because his brain should still be thinking that his arm was _fucking metal_ -

But nothing.

Ed had no trouble punching the Dwarf with his newly restored fist. His coordination was comparably _better_ than with his automail. Aside from some atrophy that _barely affected his mobility whatsoever_ , it was like he had never lost his arm to begin with.

Except Ed couldn't say that when he and Al were admitted to the hospital. Both of them had been subjected to full check-ups. If the doctors were frantic about Al's physical condition, they were completely baffled by Ed's right arm. He didn't even need to fake his confusion at the medical terms being thrown around and the questions they were asking him.

His arm didn't hurt. There was no pain. He could move his arm perfectly fine. Ed proved all this by acing all the physical tests they threw at him. He used the best of his 'limited' Cretan and charades to insist that there was nothing wrong with his arm. However that wasn't enough to convince the doctors at all.

Then they shoved Ed through a giant white tube and found the remains of his automail port.

The collective outcry of all the medical staff was probably the reason why Snape was signed over custody so quickly - so that he could approve the surgery.

Not all of the metal fragments were removed. Some were still connected to his nerves and the doctors weren't going to risk nerve damage.

For all the fuss they kicked up over his arm not one person, from the police to the hospital staff, noticed his _leg._ Yes his uneven footsteps were commented on but even when Ed was in nothing but a hospital gown under a scalpel, not a single thing was said about the _fucking leg made out of metal._

The options were limited. They could have known about his leg and didn't see it as anything out of the ordinary but was fucking impossible because any doctor who knew about automail would be able to recognise a port even when it was stuck between two pieces of flesh. They hadn't realised his leg was metal - which would take a whole lot of fucking stupidity to miss...or someone could be paying them to keep quiet.

That definitely made Ed uneasy. If someone had the slightest hint of who exactly he and Al were and where they were from then they were definitely screwed. There was no love between Amestris and other nations.

Though Ed loathed to admit it, they had to stick with Severus Snape. Ed barely trusted the bastard - he had tried to fucking choke Al. Coded phrases were supposed to inspire trust, not murderous intent dammit. But Mustang told them to seek Snape out specifically. Mustang may be a bastard but he was a bastard they could trust.

That was why, after being discharged from the hospital, Ed was going with the greasy bastard.

The hospital staff wouldn't let Al see him off. Ed agreed with them. Even with his body supporting Al's while it was in the Gate, it was truly a miracle that Al's body was even able to function properly. His brother - alive and breathing. Flesh and blood once again. Ed still had a hard time believing it. He still woke up expecting a suit of armour patiently waiting in the corner of a hotel room in the middle of nowhere Amestris. He would wake up, though, in a sterile hospital room in a faraway country with Al, skinny and boney and pale with a wild mane of golden hair, still asleep.

Ed gave Al a final tight hug. It was a little awkward of course with Ed's right arm now in a sling and all the tubes and machines Al was hooked up to but Ed was never going to pass up the opportunity to hug his brother ever again.

"Please don't punch Mr Snape in the face, brother." Al's voice was still soft and hoarse from disuse but that was a whole lot fucking better than having that metallic clang.

Ed snorted but gripped Al tighter. "Not unless he punches first."

"Brother!" Al admonished. He playfully slapped at Ed's good shoulder but reluctant to relinquish physical contact, keeping him in a half-hug.

They could have stayed like this forever, simply grateful for the other still being alive. Al had become very tactile and Ed still wanted that physical reassurance. Back in Central Hospital, it wasn't uncommon to find them twisted around each other. They had survived a ridiculous amount of shit and had every right to pretend that they were little kids again.

Except Snape was standing at the door holding the stupid suitcase that brought them here.

Reluctantly, Ed untangled himself from his brother's arms and surrounding tubes.

"I'll bring you back some proper clothes." Ed said with a final pat to Al's shoulder. "Can't have you running around in a hospital gown."

"No thanks. You're taste is terrible."

Al threw him that snarky grin and Ed couldn't help the smile growing on his face. He should have been offended but it had been so long since he had seen that stupid grin.

Ed turned to Snape. " _Ready now."_ He said in Cretan, playing up his accent.

Ed could mimic the local accent. He had learned Cretan to get even with Mustang - because there was no way Ed was going to let him insult him freely - but once he was fluent, the bastard started picking at his pronunciations and there was no way Ed was going to let things lie. He had thought that it was all made up, like Mustang was specifically messing with him by swapping around the vowels and vocabulary but now...it was like he had expected Ed to land himself in London.

If this was all part of some elaborate scheme, Mustang was getting an automail knee to the groin.

Ed was muttering curses under his breath in Amestrian about manipulative bastards as he trailed Snape out of the hospital - playing up the act that he was a bratty little kid. If those officers thought he was only thirteen then he might as well use it to his advantage.

Snape abruptly stopped at a secluded corner away from the hospital. " _You know more than you let on, don't you?"_

Ed froze, his posture automatically straightening, but he kept his mouth shut.

The greasy bastard took that as a confirmation." _I will not tolerate any idiocy or moronic behaviour. Fake a lack of understanding if you wish but I deal with insufferable teenagers on a daily basis. Don't think you can get away with anything."_

Snape continued walking, taking larger strides and forcing Ed to a light jog to keep up.

" _I have negotiated with my workplace regarding my...duties to you and your brother. I have been given leave until the end May. You, and your brother once he has been released, will be staying at my residence at Spinner's End. If your 'guardian' has yet to make an appearance by June, you will be accompanying me during the exam period. Given that you have proven yourselves trustworthy, you will be granted some freedom within Hogwarts. Otherwise, you will be under strict supervision."_

Snape talked with an arrogance that reminded Ed of the military officers who had their heads too far up their arses. It was a practised tone of authority apparently honed to deal with children. The talk of exams meant he was most likely a teacher and his students most likely despised him. Then again, Ed didn't think much of teachers other than Sensei. He never had much respect for the schoolmasters in Resembool and classroom learning was a waste of time.

" _As you are under the surveillance of the muggle authorities, you will have to heal naturally so not to draw any suspicions."_ Snape continued, as if there was a way to magically heal faster.

Though apparently, Mustang hadn't been bullshitting with his made up vocabulary. Ed had scoured every Cretan dictionary he could find in Amestris and not one of them had contained the word 'muggle'. He had said it meant 'ordinary, mundane and strictly non-alchemical', generally in reference to police departments and non-alchemist military when he was particularly pissed. It implied that London had State Alchemist-equivalents and Ed had to avoid them at all costs. They may have been able to fool regular officers but they shouldn't test their luck with other alchemists.

Snape droned on about the plans for the rest of the day, not slowing his pace or looking back to see if Ed was still following. Hogwarts, if he was actually talking about his workplace and not pimples on pigs, was a boarding school so they had to buy some food and other essentials first. Then they were going 'diagonally' so Snape could pick up some alchemic supplies. The man had said 'potion ingredients' but Ed had dealt with his fair share of crazy alchemists. Unless that was some weird slang, Snape was likely part of the idiots that thought alchemy was magic.

Ed wasn't short. He was still growing and Snape had freakishly long legs. However with him trying to keep up with the greasy bastard and trying to catch everything he was spouting, Ed didn't have much time to admire the scenery. Peripherally the architecture looked similar to Central's with all the streets paved at tall buildings lined side by side. There was also the odd glass building or flashing sign that spoke of greater technological advancements, not to mention the automobiles outnumbered the people walking. It was the new slowly encroaching on the old. It was a glimpse of what Central might look like in a century or so.

The grocery store was drastically different from anything he had seen in all his travels in Amestris. It was easily the size of Eastern Command with tiled floors and isles of shelves that turned the place into a giant maze. Instead of going to the counter and asking the cashier for the items, the customers brought the items to the cashiers for purchase. It was a surprisingly effective system given all the people funneling in and out of the store. It was definitely an improvement over waiting an hour to buy some beans because the lady in front was ordering an entire month's worth of groceries.

Ed followed Snape as he navigated his way through the isles. Each shef was selling the same thing but with twenty different packagings. If Snape hadn't grabbed one upon passing, Ed would surely have been stuck trying to figure out what made one can better than the other.

There was a multiples of everything, including newspapers. Ed grabbed one from the smallest pile, not because he was short but because that meant it was probably the most popular. All the papers seemed to be selling pretty well and each boasted a different headline. Back in Amestris there was only one newspaper and everyone knew it was state propaganda.

The cover story of _The Daily Telegraph_ was criticising some foreign politician's attempt to stop 'global warming' but that wasn't what caught Ed's eye. Instead his gaze honed in on the small plain text above the bold headline.

 _15th April 2010_

* * *

Despite spending the past several months hiding as fugitives, overthrowing the government and trying to stop the country from being turned into a Philosopher's Stone, Ed hadn't lost track of time so much that an _entire century has passed._ It was still mid-April, give or take a couple of days, but Ed distinctly remembered the year being 1915. According the the newspaper, he would have turned a hundred and eleven two months ago.

Snape had made a snarky comment about the photos not moving. Ed had wanted to snap back because why the fuck with photos be moving but he kept his mouth shut. He was _apparently_ a century in the future in a foreign country, who knows how different idioms may be.

A lot more things made more sense. England wasn't advance, Amestris was behind. Time travel had to be ruled out - otherwise how else would they have been able to call Mustang. It had to be of the Homunculi. Sometime over the past four hundred years, Amestris must have gotten out of synch with the rest of the world. There was going to be a lot of catching up to do.

Snape, in an act of not being a complete dick, had bought the paper for Ed. Having mastered the art of walking while reading, Ed gleaned the paper for all the information it offered. Not being at war with all surrounding nations did wonders for international relations. While there were stories on sports and the royal family, a good chunk of the paper was dedicated to spontaneous localised fires happening throughout Europe. It only took one look for Ed to know that the fires were alchemic in nature. There was no way that a natural flame could cause that much focused damage. Ed was tempted to say it was Mustang but unless the colonel was planning to burn down any chance of international diplomacy, it had to be someone else. However the destruction look too much like the remains of Ishval for his comfort.

Snape led Ed to a dingy pub for lunch. With how everyone seemed to be ignoring it, The Leaky Cauldron had to be one of those 'red-light' establishments - though that didn't mean it didn't serve good food. Ed had been going to The Bar in Central for it's great food for months before he ever found out about its 'additional services'. The bartender - _brothel madame_ he later realised - had gotten a good laugh at his expense. Al had known the entire time of course and decided to leave Ed to suffer.

If London was a step forward from Amestris then the interior of The Leaky Cauldron was two steps back. No natural light could filter through the dirty windows so lamps lit the pub instead of those ceiling lights Ed saw at the grocery store. A thin layer of grime covered every flat surface though none of the patrons seemed to mind. Speaking of the patrons, nearly all of them were dressed pointed hats and flowing robes. The handful that weren't barely had a grasp on the rest of London's fashion with mismatched clothes and suits and Ed was certain he hadn't seen any other man outside the pub in a purple dress and bowler hat. This was going to be another crazy cult, wasn't it?

Ed ate in silence, focusing solely on his food rather than let his attention wander to the insanity surrounding him. Snape thankfully wasn't dressed like anyone surrounding them, wearing an all black suit with a green and silver scarf. Otherwise Ed was going to question where Mustang found his 'contacts'.

Snape was flipping through the paper idly, completely ignoring his own plate. " _So you can read better than you can speak."_ A statement, not a question.

Ed paused to swallow. " _The pictures are nice."_

" _Of charred buildings and burnt corpses? Charming."_ But thankfully Snape didn't push the matter any further. Instead he hummed and said, " _It seems the muggles have been catching on to the Floo Disruptors."_

" _Who?"_ What did fires have anything to do with disrupting flu?

" _Arsonists. Anarchists. At least the media isn't passing them off as 'unfortunate accidents' anymore."_ Snape rolled up the paper and absently started rubbing his forearm. " _They haven't affected Britain yet so the Ministry insists on keeping the Floo Network open...despite the security risk it may cause."_

" _Politics."_ Ed muttered. If the government wasn't corrupt then it was downright incompetent. At least that hadn't changed over the century.

" _As soon as you're finished, we'll go to Diagon Alley."_ Not a direction but another place with a weird name. Hopefully there will be some more level-headed alchemists there.

Ed grinned as he pushed forward his empty plate. " _You eating?"_

Snape scowled but passed Ed his untouched plate of semi-cold food.

After Ed had eaten his fill, Snape lead him to the courtyard behind the pub instead of back out into the streets. A dead end. Before Ed could question anything, Snape pulled a stick from sleeve and tapped a brick above the trash can on the back wall.

Ed would have thought Snape had activated a hidden array but he was damn sure as fuck transmuting bricks didn't cause them to protrude backwards and forwards until they formed an archway. Maybe Ed could have written it off as a bit of showmanship, he himself was guilty of a little showing off, but what laid on the other side shattered any perception of that entirely.


End file.
